How To Save A Life
by Chrmdpoet
Summary: Rachel Berry experiences tragedy and hardship in one of the worst forms and can do little more than cling to the person who saved her life-Santana Lopez. "All it takes is a moment. Sometimes, a moment is only a moment—simple, boring, ordinary, but sometimes…sometimes, a moment is everything. Sometimes, a moment changes us forever." Pezberry Romance; Faberry and Quinntana Friendship
1. Chapter 1: A Moment

**A/N: Hello everyone. This is my first story for Glee, and I am excited to embark on this little adventure. I wanted to go ahead and give you fair WARNING: This story will contain much angst, as well as mentions and visual descriptions of violence, blood, rape, and depression. So, be prepared for that or avoid if you are uncomfortable. This story is a slow-burn Rachel/Santana romance, with epic Quinn/Rachel FRIENDSHIP and Quinn/Santana friendship. While I do ship Faberry, there will be NO Faberry ROMANCE in this story. I hope you enjoy. XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Also, I do not own Glee or any of its characters.**

**Chapter One: A Moment**

All it takes is a moment. It can feel fleeting or it can drag on for what may seem like centuries, but in the end, it is only a moment. That's what life is after all—just a cluster or sequence of moments, and through these moments, we grow. We succeed and we fail. We fall and we rise. We live and we die. Sometimes, a moment is only a moment—simple, boring, ordinary, but sometimes…sometimes, a moment is everything. Sometimes, a moment changes us forever.

And that moment, the moment I found her there—bleeding, unconscious, broken; that moment rocked me to my very core. That moment…it completely and utterly altered my life.

* * *

"Miss? Miss?!"

The commanding voice of the ER nurse crackled in my ears with the force of a hammer, shattering the burning bubble of shock that had developed around me. I snapped to attention, trying desperately to bring the woman speaking into sharp focus, but I could hardly see through the blurry sheen coating my eyes. She was nothing more than a fuzzy image, a frantic blur assaulting my senses much as the last hour of my life had been. As her voice sank into me, reality crashed around me and brought me back to the here and now, and suddenly I was made aware—aware of the quaking in my knees, of the strain in my biceps as I fiercely cradled the warm weight in my arms. My body felt as if, at any moment, it might splinter. It might crack and crumble and fall helplessly to the cold, white floor of the hospital's emergency room.

"Miss, you need to let go now," the nurse's voice rang out to me again. "Let us do our jobs now. It's okay, just let go." I felt the sting of her hand upon my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me, to let me know that it was okay for me to let go, to let me know that I had done well—that I had done all I could do, but the hand just felt cold to me. It felt as foreign and as unreal as this night now felt. It felt wrong, and I just wanted to slap it away and scream at her that I couldn't. I couldn't let go. I couldn't let go, because if I let go, then reality would only crash more forcefully into me, and I would have to realize that this…all of this…was really happening. But she kept on, and before I could really say anything, before I could think to put words to voice and force them up my stinging throat and through my trembling lips, another nurse, a man this time, was pulling the weight from my arms, and the woman whose hand was still resting atop my shoulder was pushing me onto a thin, white bed in the corner of the chaotic room and flashing a light in front of my eyes before pressing the rounded head of a stethoscope to my chest.

It was too much. It was all too much. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. The sounds—voices around me and in front of me, shouting and panicked and low and soothing, questions assaulting my ears more rapidly than I could think to answer; machines beeping and somebody crying on the other side of the room and another person cursing in pain and more machines beeping and nurses scuffling hurriedly around the massive room and curtains sliding and doors whooshing open and clicking closed and more machines beeping and traffic teeming outside the sliding doors and cars honking and fucking machines…beeping…beeping…beeping; they were all just too much. Too much for me to bear. Too much for me to take in and process. Just too goddamn much.

"Miss, I need you to try and focus, okay?" The nurse tried with me again, and slowly her voice was leaking into my ears and pushing me toward clarity, forcing me to drown out the surrounding sounds of other people's emergencies and come back to the moment, back to myself. I forced myself to focus, lifting my blurry gaze to meet hers, and was instantly rewarded as she said, "Good, good. You need to breathe for me, okay? You're in shock, and we need to try to slow your heart-rate. So look at me and do as I do, okay? Deep breath in…" she inhaled deeply and I did my best to imitate her, sharply and violently sucking much-needed air into my lungs, "and let it out slowly." I did. I let it out, and with it went the very last fractured bits of that bubble I'd been in. A strangled sob tore from my throat and fresh tears ripped furiously down my cheeks, re-wetting the tight and dry tracks from before—the evidence of tears I hadn't even known I'd been crying. We breathed together several times before I could feel my pulse slowing and the swarm of screaming panic in my head dull to a mild buzz. She nodded encouragingly as she patted my arm soothingly, and after a few minutes, her voice spilled into my ears again.

"Now, can you talk to me? Can you tell me your name?" She asked.

My entire body shook so forcefully that I was afraid at any minute I might just explode, but she held onto my shoulders, grounding me and forcing me to stay in the moment. Tears spilled endlessly down my cheeks, slid over my chin, and dripped down my neck. I could feel my heartbeat thudding in my ears, in my throat, in my chest, in my stomach, in every inch of me, and I just wanted to run. I wanted to wake up from this fucking nightmare, but instead, I opened my mouth and stuttered out my reply, my voice gravelly and broken as it touched the air of the ER for the first time since I'd stumbled through the doors screaming for help.

"S-Santana," I managed to get out in a rocky whisper between fractured gasps for air and wet sobs. "My n-name is S-Santana Lopez."

"Good, okay Santana," she said with a small smile and an affectionate squeeze of my shoulders, "my name is Elaine. Keep breathing, and tell me, have you been injured in any way? Do you need to be checked out?"

I shook my head in answer, my gaze piercing into hers, latching on as if this woman could somehow save me from the reality knocking furiously at doors inside my head, trying to get in.

"Okay, and this blood," she said softly, motioning to my clothes, and forcing my gaze downward. My hands were painted crimson, both wet and dry, as were my clothes now clinging to my chest and arms and legs, sticky with sweat and blood. As the haunting vision slammed into me, another sob tore from my throat and my body only shook harder, my breathing spiraling into a frantic, gasping mess once more. "None of this blood belongs to you?" she asked, running her gloved hands soothingly up and down my arms, and reminding me again to breathe.

I shook my head in answer once more, and cried harder than I could ever remember crying in my entire life, choking forcefully on my own saliva. "Okay," she cooed. "Okay, Santana, it's alright. Just breathe. Keep breathing." I did as she asked, and she breathed with me in silence, waiting for me to calm enough to continue. After several long moments of sobbing and gasping and wishing I could just wake up, she spoke softly to me again, reminding me that none of this, regardless of how I longed for it to be, was a dream.

"And the young woman you brought in with you, Santana; do you know her?" she asked.

A whimper that I didn't even recognize as my own rumbled in my chest and slipped across my lips as I nodded my head to confirm that I did, in fact, know her. "Good," she said, nodding in encouragement. "Now, I know you're tired and you're scared, Santana, but I'm going to need for you to stay with me right now and try to keep it together, okay? Because the more you can tell me, the better we can help her. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes," I whispered, and before I realized what I was doing, I grabbed her hand and clutched it fiercely in my own. Waves of nausea rocked my body as the events of the evening crashed through my brain with aching clarity. I needed something, someone, to hold onto, and this woman…she was all I had in the moment, so I clutched onto her desperately, and hoped she would allow it. She did. She matched my grip, and with her other hand, continued to pat and rub my arm soothingly, which was a damn good thing, because the next thing she asked me to do caused my insides to clench violently and my stomach to roar in protest.

"Santana, I need you to tell me what happened tonight," she said, squeezing my hand in encouragement. "Can you do that?"

"I-I…I c-can-can…" I tried. I tried to talk to her, but my voice wouldn't work. My body wouldn't allow it. My brain was actively trying to force away the images of everything that had happened in the last hour, and before I could manage even a sentence, I was doubled over just to the side of her, emptying my stomach on the hospital floor. I couldn't even be embarrassed. I was too fucking tired, too shocked and stunned and disgusted and terrified by all that had happened. My stomach had been rocking and rolling constantly since I'd found her.

Elaine rubbed my bank soothingly, encouraging me to get it all out, and after several minutes of retching until I could do nothing more than dry heave, I managed to push myself back into a sitting position and face her. She smiled sadly at me and quietly asked, "How about we start with a simpler question? Can you tell me her name, Santana?"

I swallowed and nearly vomited again as the soured, bitter taste on my tongue slid grotesquely down my throat and sizzled in my gut, but somehow I managed to choke it down and force myself to keep it together. I locked gazes with her and nodded before my ragged whisper slipped into the air once more.

"Rachel," I rasped. "Rachel Berry."


	2. Chapter 2: The Things That Haunt Us

**A/N: Just wanted to add that, in this story, Rachel and Quinn are best friends as are Santana and Quinn, though Quinn does still attend Yale and they all see each other every few weeks or so. Rachel is very close to Kurt as well, and her friendship with Santana has been growing. Enjoy! XO-Chrmdpoet **

**Chapter Two: The Things That Haunt Us**

Elaine asked me if there was someone that I would need to call for Rachel, and while her dads immediately came to mind, I realized that I didn't have their number. I had only been living with Rachel and Kurt for a few months and while Rachel and I had certainly grown into more of a solid friendship after the whole man-whore boyfriend debacle, we had only just begun to get close. So, with shaky hands, I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed the only person I could think of in the moment that could provide the information as well as the comfort that I needed—Rachel's best friend as well as my own. I put the phone on speaker and waited, my breaths still coming in hiccups and gasps from my endless sobbing over the last hour and a half. On the third ring, a familiar raspy voice answered, echoing through the chaotic ER.

"Santana!" Quinn answered affectionately, and I instantly crumbled. The familiarity of Quinn's voice was such a comfort in that moment that I could hardly breathe or think or move, but the joy in her tone was just too much. I dissolved into heaving breaths and heavy sobs once more while I listened to my best friend's voice instantly change from elation to panic.

"Santana?" Quinn asked timidly, her own voice now shaking as I'm sure a million terrible possibilities flitted through her mind to explain my distress. "Santana, what is it? Talk to me, honey. Take a breath, and talk to me." I tried to answer, but I couldn't. I could only continue to gasp and cry, my heart-wrenching sobs and moans crashing through the speaker and probably only amplifying her panic. "Santana, please, you're scaring me," she pleaded, but I was lost. I was choking on my own words, so I simply handed the phone to Elaine and hoped that she could do what I couldn't.

Elaine patted my shoulder affectionately and took the phone from hand and spoke into the speaker, "Hello, may I ask with whom I am speaking, please?"

"Um, Qu-Quinn Fabray," I heard Quinn say before she asked her own question. "Who is this?"

"Miss Fabray, my name is Elaine, I am a nurse at Bellevue hospital in Manhattan—" Elaine started, but Quinn's voice quickly cut her off.

"Oh god," I heard her cry, "Is Santana…is she okay?" And at that, I only crumbled further. New sobs racked my body as tears spilled down my cheeks, and for the love of God, I couldn't stop crying. I had been at it for over an hour and I still couldn't stop. I wasn't even the one who'd been hurt, but I couldn't shake the images in my mind—images of Rachel and the way she'd looked when I found her. My stomach roared its protest to the sudden flickering pictures in my mind and I found myself doubled over once more, heaving bitter bile onto the floor at my feet.

Elaine only patted my back and continued her conversation with Quinn. "Yes ma'am," she reassured my best friend. "Santana is fine, but are you of any relation to a Rachel Berry?"

A deafening and guttural sob instantly ripped through the air and into the speaker of the phone, and it was several seconds later before I realized that the terrifying sound had actually come from me, from my own throat, from my own heart. This…it was more than I could handle, and just hearing Rachel's name, from my own lips or from the nurse's, only solidified the moment and all that had happened and was still happening. I had been through a lot of shit in my life and had had more than my fair share of shitty days, but never had I experienced anything like this. No, this…this was the worst day of my life.

And it only grew worse by the minute, because I had absolutely no fucking idea what was going on. I just wanted to know if she was okay, but at the same time, I just wanted to get her out of my head. I wanted to see her the way she was yesterday or the day before or even in high school when she was an annoyingly verbose drama queen in animal sweaters and hanging all over Finn Hudson. God, I'd give anything for those to be the images in my head, but instead, all I had was…was…

"No ma'am," Quinn's voice filtered into the air, snapping me back to reality, and I could hear the fear in her voice, the subtle crack to her tone that betrayed that she, too, had begun to cry. Part of me ached further for the pain and panic in my best friend's voice, but another part of me desperately wanted her to be broken with me, just so that I wouldn't have to be alone in this. Part of me wanted her to be a wreck…a mess like me, a mess over the girl we'd both tormented once, the girl who once taught us that we could be so much more than pretty faces and cheerleading uniforms; a mess over Rachel Berry. "Is…is Rachel…what happened to her?"

"That's not entirely clear yet, ma'am," Elaine told her, and I just shook my head as my pulse pounded in my ears and my eyes stung from clenching them closed and crying. "Are you Miss Berry's emergency contact or do you a have a way of reaching such a person?"

"I can, um…yes, I can call her fathers and give them the information for the hospital, but they live in Ohio, so…I'm not sure how long it will take them to make it there," I heard Quinn stutter and rattle off, her voice cracking again. "Is Santana…can you tell her that I'm coming, please? Tell her I'm getting on the train and I'll be there soon. Can you tell her that, please?"

I could only cry harder at that, and my heart simultaneously clenched and swelled in my chest. Soon, I wouldn't be alone and that was a blessing unlike any other I could think of at the moment, but it was also a curse, because that meant that soon, Quinn would know exactly how bad it was, how bad everything was, and before that happened…I just…I needed to tell my friend that she was important to me, because I hadn't ever told Rachel that and all I could think was that I should have. It was in that moment that I found my voice again, and I managed to loudly stutter, "I l-love you, Qu-Quinn."

I heard Quinn sigh heavily through the speaker before her raspy, broken voice echoed through, saying, "I love you, too, Santana," and with that she hung up, and I was on my own again—just me and a random nurse I didn't know except for her name, but somehow felt comforted by. Elaine smiled sadly at me and handed me several tissues for the mess that was my face, and I could only nod in gratitude.

"Elaine?" Both Elaine's head and mine snapped up and turned in the direction of the voice. A doctor in a white coat, green scrubs, and a green scrub cap was standing just off to the side and motioning for Elaine to join him. "A word, please?" he asked, and Elaine patted my knee before turning and walking the few steps over to him, not quite far enough that I couldn't overhear what they were saying, and it was only a matter of seconds before I heard my own name and chills shot down my spine.

"Dr. Hart," Elaine acknowledged the man as she stepped over to him, and he nodded to her.

"Is there a Santana here anywhere? Do you know? I checked the waiting room, but—"

"I'm Santana," I croaked, butting quickly into their conversation and forcing my gravelly voice steady, and it trembled regardless, but at least I managed not to stutter. My anxiety spiked as he nodded quickly and stepped over until he was standing where Elaine had only just stood in front of me. He extended a hand to shake mine, but I quickly shook my head and glanced down at my hands still covered in Rachel's blood. He followed my gaze and nodded with a sad smile before saying, "My name is Dr. Hart. Are you related to Miss Berry?" He glanced to Elaine, as if to ask if he'd gotten the name right, and she nodded quickly.

"No sir," I answer him. "She's…she's my roommate." He nodded again and continued.

"Okay, Santana, well we have stopped the bleeding and Miss Berry is stable for now, but she is going to need some surgery and…" he hesitated, his gaze penetrating my own as if he was afraid of how I'd take whatever he was about to say, and with good reason, because the next words that came out of his mouth had me retching into the floor again, "…a rape kit." He awkwardly patted my shoulder as I heaved but nothing came out, my stomach now empty and aching. "But she is conscious now and understandably rather distraught. As required with all possible rape cases, we have notified the police and they are on their way, and you will have to provide a statement when they arrive, but as of right now, Miss Berry is panicked and refusing to allow anyone to touch her."

My heart exploded in my chest, clenching painfully as his words crashed over me, and all I could picture in that moment was Rachel panicking somewhere in this hospital, terrified and broken and surrounded by only strangers. "She has been calling your name repeatedly, and as it is very important that we perform the appropriate tests as soon as possible and get her into surgery, we need her calm and cooperative. So, if you could come with me, I can take you to see her and perhaps you could help comfort and calm her."

My pulse quickened until it grew into a frantic rhythm, pounding violently against my ribcage as a painfully large lump formed in my throat and my eyes stung with fresh tears. "Santana?" I heard Elaine call to me and I turned to look at her, my body trembling and my teeth cutting into my lip as I bit into it, drawing blood. "Can you do that? Can you go and see Rachel?" She spoke to me like you would talk to a kid, but I couldn't blame her. I was a slobbering, whimpering, quivering mess and I was barely holding it together, but I nodded nonetheless and forced myself onto my feet.

My knees quaked and knocked together as they tried to hold my weight, screaming in protest as my body ached with exhaustion. After several moments, I steadied myself and nodded to the doctor that I was ready. He nodded in return and motioned for me to follow him, and I did, feeling Elaine's small hand pat my back encouragingly as we passed by her. I trailed behind the doctor silently, my fidgeting fists clenched into the material of my blood-soaked shirt and my gaze trained on the stark white of his coat-clad back as we made our way through the doors of the ER and down a bustling hallway.

Nurses and doctors alike glanced in my direction. I could see them from my peripheral, catching glimpses of grimaces or sad expressions as they took in my blood-stained clothing and my tear-soaked cheeks. I didn't look at them, though; at least not directly. I could only handle so much, and I was already at the end of my rope as far as that went. I tried to block out the blurs of people surrounding me and the sounds spilling into my ears. I tried not to picture Rachel or what she would look like or what she would say or if she would say anything at all or why she had been asking for me of all people. I guess I knew the answer to that. Right after I'd found her, she'd come into consciousness for only a minute or two. I can still feel her hands clutching onto me and hear her voice shakily whispering my name before she fell from the world again. The sound of it haunted my memory every second.

I tried not to think about Quinn and how she would react to all of this or about Rachel's dads and how they would be completely and utterly broken by what had happened. I tried so desperately to shut it all out, forcing it all down and away until nothing remained but the bright white lab coat in front of me and the brisk pace that now carried me through Bellevue Hospital, and before I could even process how far we had gone or where we were, doors swung open in front of me and Dr. Hart led me into a small examination room where I came face to face with a very frantic, but very much alive, Rachel Berry.


	3. Chapter 3: The Only Comfort

**Chapter Three: The Only Comfort**

My heart shot into my throat and stuck there like a hard piece of candy, throbbing and painful and refusing to go down as I took in the sight of Rachel, still bloody and still dirty and still completely broken. Her tattered clothes that had barely clung to her when I'd found her had been removed and were in little bags just off to the side on a countertop. From her visibly bare shoulders, I could guess that she was naked beneath that thin white sheet as she thrashed on the bed and screamed at the nurses not to touch her even though none of them were even making an attempt to do so. Her hair was a mess, tangled and mussed and sticky with the grime from the street, but it was her eyes that arrested me.

As soon as she noticed me standing there, those big, chocolate eyes, wide with panic and fear, pierced into me, digging beneath my flesh and tearing at my fucking soul, and I just wanted to die. I was so conflicted in that moment that I couldn't decide if I wanted to turn and run back out the door and away from all of this or run to her, cradle her in my arms, and tell her that everything was going to be alright just like I'd done when she'd broken down about her pregnancy scare.

I meant to hold it together. I swear I did. I had been holding my breath the entire time I'd been following Dr. Hart and telling myself that I had to stay strong for Rachel and not break down again, but when she locked her wide, fearful gaze with mine and her strangled voice cried out to me, I just fucking lost it.

"Santana," she cried and immediately threw her arms out to me, and that was all it took. A sob ripped from my throat and my trembling legs carried me forward of their own volition and before I could even process what was happening, she had pulled me onto the bed with her and had wrapped around me like a koala bear, that thin white sheet serving as the only barrier between her bloodied flesh and my bloodied clothes. She sobbed into my neck, her entire body quaking as if she'd just been to hell and back, and God knows she had, and I just clutched onto her, crying just as fiercely into her hair as she choked and gasped and her trembling lips moved against my neck with her words. "Santana, help me. Help me."

I had always thought people were overly dramatic when they talked about heartbreak, because I'd had my own heart broken and yeah, that shit hurt, but it wasn't the end of the world, but in that moment, I think I finally understood. It literally felt like my heart, still lodged in my burning throat, splintered and cracked wide open, and yeah, it fucking felt like the end of the goddamn world. Her words only made me cry harder as I tried to tell her that I didn't know how. I didn't know how to help her. I didn't know what to do, so I just stroked her dirty hair and pressed a trembling kiss to the top of her head, because what the hell else could I do? Nothing. There was nothing. Nobody and nothing could fix this.

Even with me holding her, though, she couldn't calm down. She only screamed and cried harder and clutched onto me until her fingernails dug into my back and burned, so I did the only thing that ever came to mind when I thought of Rachel Berry. I sang. My voice was shredded and sounded like shit, but I sang anyway. I don't even know what words came out of my mouth or what song my head had managed to produce in that awful moment, but I just kept going, and God help me, it worked. I felt her breathing stutter and slow, her frantic pulse leveling out and into a steady rhythm, pounding against my own. She still shook, but to a lesser degree, and it was as if all the fear in her leaked out in one heavy sigh and she relaxed into me, and I just rocked her back and forth and continued to sing as rivers leaked from my eyes and into her hair.

After several long moments, when I finally felt she was calm enough, I gently pushed her back so that I could look into those heartbreaking chocolate pools again, and I whispered, "You have to let them help you, Rachel."

Her bottom lip trembled as she stared into me, and I could do nothing but nod encouragingly and hope she trusted me enough to believe that this was the right thing, the best thing for her to do. "Please, Rachel, let them help you," I whispered again, my voice cracking painfully, and finally she nodded her consent, and I sighed in relief. I slid from the bed and helped her to move into a sitting position, wincing with her as she hissed in pain with the movement. I didn't look at her bare back as it became exposed, because I didn't want to see the wounds that I knew were there, so I just clutched onto her hand as she continued to stare into me, refusing to allow her gaze to wander elsewhere. I was the only thing in that room that was familiar to her; therefore, I was her only comfort, so she didn't let go, and neither did I, because in that moment, she was my only comfort as well.

There was a soft knock on the door before it opened to reveal a female detective, her badge shining from its clipped position on her hip. She smiled softly at us both, and I turned back to look at Rachel, but Rachel was only looking at me, and her gaze never moved, not even when the detective introduced herself and explained that they would need to perform a rape kit before surgery, because they needed to collect as much evidence as possible before it had any further chance of degrading or being washed away. I nodded encouragingly at Rachel even though both of our eyes were leaking as the words floated into our ears and haunted us both. When she nodded her consent again, everyone left the room except a single female doctor, the detective, and me. I was asked to step outside, but that sent Rachel into a panic, so they agreed to let me stay, but I had to stand off the side while they performed the necessary tests, and every single second, Rachel's gaze pierced into me.

It didn't matter what they did to her in that moment, because it seemed my presence was keeping her grounded. They swabbed inside her mouth, cut and bagged her fingernails, took swab samples from a fluid on the inside of her thigh that I didn't even want to think about, before they swabbed inside her, and as much as I wanted to turn away, and God did I fucking want to turn away, I couldn't. She needed me. She needed my eyes, needed to escape into something familiar, so I just stood there, trembling, while she stared into me and I stared back. When the doctor gave her a small cup with a pill in it and told her it was to prevent pregnancy, my stomach rocked and rolled for the thousandth time and threatened to spill its contents onto the floor once more, but I somehow kept it together. I kept it together for Rachel, and prayed to every deity I could think of that she could recover from this, that I could help her to come back from this somehow, though I was completely clueless as to how I could even begin to accomplish that.

When they were finally finished, they helped her into a gown and the detective asked her a few questions, but her memory of what had happened was fractured and she couldn't think straight, so she agreed to speak with the woman at a later time, after her surgery or after she'd rested, hell I don't know. I was too lost in those chocolate pools that called out to me, constantly begging me for sanctuary, for reprieve, for a damn pinch to wake her up from whatever fucking nightmare we'd both been tossed into.

The detective said she'd wait for me in the waiting room so that she could take my statement, and I just nodded, my eyes still locked with Rachel's. It took a long time for me to convince her to let me go so that the doctors could take her into surgery. Dr. Hart said that most of her wounds were superficial based on the scans they'd taken while she was still unconscious, but there was one deep stab wound to her right shoulder that needed to be tended to and her left foot was fractured, so they needed to get her into an Operating Room. It took me singing her another song and pleading with her to allow the surgery and promising that I would be there as soon as she woke up, but she finally agreed and let me go.

I stood trembling in the hallway and watched them wheel her away before a nurse pointed me in the direction of the waiting room, and I went silently, my head a riot and my heart a stammering, fractured mess. When I stepped into the massive waiting room, my eyes instantly landed on the detective from before. She was waiting near the middle of the room near a small cluster of empty seats. She smiled sadly and motioned me over, but before I could take a step forward, something caught my eyes and the air slammed from my lungs in a heart-wrenching sob.

Blonde hair swished as the familiar figure turned at the sound and wide, terrified hazel eyes bore into me, and before a word could be uttered, I was running. I sprinted the short distance across the waiting room and flung myself into arms that in that moment felt like the only home I'd ever known and allowed myself to completely crumble. I sobbed into her and she clutched onto me, her entire body quaking as her trembling hands stroked my sticky, sweaty hair, and though I knew she had a million questions, she didn't ask. She just held onto me and whispered soothingly into my ear.

"It's okay, Santana," she said as she rubbed my back and pressed a kiss to my cheek. "It's okay. I've got you." And in that moment, all I could think was, _Thank God for Quinn Fabray. _


	4. Chapter 4: The Hardest Things

**A/N: The next chapter will cover Santana's account of how she found Rachel. I hope you are all enjoying so far. XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Four: The Hardest Things**

After what felt like hours, I finally managed to pull myself together and drop into an empty seat with my body still pressed snugly into Quinn's. I needed her support. I felt like I had just barely been holding it together all night and at any minute I might just fall to pieces, so I held onto her like a damn life raft and prayed that we could get through this together for both our sakes and for Rachel's. The detective handed me a tissue as she sat down across from us and pulled a small notepad from her pocket so that she could record my account of what had happened.

Quinn was trembling next to me and I could only imagine the riot that must be raging inside her mind as she had no clue as to what had happened or whether or not Rachel was even alive, because I hadn't said a damn thing and the only clues she had to go on were my blood-soaked clothes and hands and my gut-wrenching sobs. She held it together, though, ever the rock of strength she had always been even in the face of her own daunting trials and damn had she been through a storm of them. Quinn Fabray was the strongest person I had ever known, and in that moment I was so thankful that it was her that I had there to lean on and not someone else like Kurt, because as much I love that kid, he was always just as dramatic if not more so than Rachel, and I just couldn't handle something like that right now. I was a mess in my own right, and that was all the mess I could deal with; and Quinn…well, even if she was a mess on the inside, she wasn't on the surface. On the surface, she was a fucking warrior.

She informed the detective that she had notified Rachel's dads that Rachel was in the hospital because that was all the information she had to give them, and that they were going to catch the earliest flight to New York. She said that they would probably like to talk to the detective as well as the doctors, to which the woman only nodded before she turned her gaze to me. "Perhaps we should speak privately?" she questioned, glancing to Quinn, and I quickly shook my head and said, "No, she's family. She's Rachel's family and mine, so it's okay. Rachel would want her here." And I meant it, every word. I knew that Rachel would want Quinn there with me, and I knew that I _needed_ her there with me, so that's just the way it was going to be, and I didn't give a damn if the detective agreed with that or not. She seemed to contemplate my words for a moment longer before finally nodding in consent, which had both Quinn and I sighing our relief.

"Okay, let's get started, shall we?" she asked as she looked at me with soft, kind eyes and waited for me to nod my agreement. When I did, she said, "Now I know that this is very difficult for you, but it's extremely important that you tell me as much as you can, sparing no details, because the more you can tell me, the better chance we have of catching the guy who did this." I nodded again, though my stomach churned at the thought of that fucking bastard, whoever he was, and at realizing that I was about to have to relive everything that had happened and not only on my own, but in front of Quinn, and I knew that this was going to be just as hard for her to hear as it was going to be for me to say it, but I had to do this. We had to do this for Rachel, because as heartbroken as I was in that moment, there was also a fucking rage unlike anything I'd ever felt in my life brewing in my gut and I wanted to hunt down that piece of shit and burn him alive. Rachel deserved justice, and if I could help make that happen, then I'd do it. I'd do anything.

"Do you think…?" I asked before she could begin questioning me, but I hesitated because I was terrified of hearing a negative answer, but I had to know, so I continued, "…is there a good chance that you could catch him? I mean…did you get enough evidence from the, the…" I tried to say it, but I couldn't. The words "rape kit" just fucking refused to touch my tongue and part of me was extremely thankful for that, because I choked harshly enough at the mere thought of the words, so I didn't even want to know how I would react to actually speaking them aloud.

She seemed to understand though as she smiled sadly at me and nodded before saying, "The tests are very helpful, and they most often make all the difference in the world with cases like this. With seminal fluid present, the chances of capture and conviction are much higher as DNA is just about the best evidence we can ever hope for; so in this case, our chances are very good."

As soon as the words, "seminal fluid," filtered into the air, I felt Quinn go rigid beside me and heard her breath hitch, because she had basically just been clued in to what had happened. I glanced at her from my peripherals and could see silent tears spilling down her cheeks. I squeezed her hand as my guts clenched and my heart screamed, and I hoped that I could be a strength of sorts for her as she was for me, because hearing that your best friend has been raped is one of the most difficult things a person can ever experience.

"But any further information that you can provide," the detective continued, "will only increase our chances, so I encourage you to be as thorough as possible, but before we start, I have to ask; if an arrest is made, would you be willing to stand trial and testify as to everything you experienced tonight?" I immediately answered that I would. Hell yes I would stand up in any court in front of any judge and say whatever the hell I needed to say to put that bastard away. She smiled and surprisingly thanked me before saying, "Okay, if you're ready then, can you state your name for the record, please?"

I felt Quinn's hand slip into mine and squeeze. I squeezed back in gratitude for her support and said, "Santana Lopez."

The detective jotted it down in her notebook while asking, "And what is your relation to the victim?" My stomach churned again at hearing this woman refer to Rachel as a victim. It only further solidified everything in my mind, and I had to swallow the jagged lump quivering fiercely in my throat. It went down like acid, burning and aching the entire way before I was able to choke out, "She's my roommate."

"Okay, Santana, why don't you tell me what you can about the events leading up to, during, and after the attack?" she asked, and I could only stare at her for several long, silent moments, because my tongue just felt swollen in my mouth and I couldn't force it to move, couldn't make it produce words as my head instantly swam with the most haunting images I had ever seen in my life; images I knew would follow me forever. I just wanted to crawl into a fucking hole and disappear, but instead, I had to sit there and talk about it. I had to remember. I had to relive, and that was almost harder than it was to actually live it the first time. But Quinn's hand was squeezing mine again, offering me support and encouragement and strength, and finally I forced myself to speak, closing my eyes and going back…back to earlier, when everything just fell the hell apart.


	5. Chapter 5: To Save Her

**Chapter Five: To Save Her**

_I was seriously starting to get pissed off as I stood off to the side at the café waiting for my damn drink order to be called. I mean, yeah, it was busy, but hell, I'd been waiting for over fifteen minutes and I had a whole damn day of job hunting that I needed to get to. These bitches were seriously getting on my last nerve, and Santana Lopez is certainly not known for her patience, but as soon as I saw the guy who had been behind me in line get his drink before me, I just lost it. _

_ I stomped over to the counter right behind him and snapped my fingers at the curly-headed ginger kid in the dark green apron. I took a page from my girl Q's book and fashioned my best HBIC glare at the boy which had him quaking in his twenty-dollar Wal-Mart reeboks before I even had to utter a word, but when I did actually open my mouth, I was pretty sure the kid was on the verge of either crying or pissing his pants. Whatever…as long as I got my coffee, because God knows I can't start a day without my damn caffeine. Life would be better if someone could just pop a damn IV in my arm and spill that mocha goodness right into my veins, but I guess nobody can have it all._

_ "Listen Carrot Top!" I barked at him. "I'm sure it's difficult for you to make a cup of coffee with your oversized albino hands and while trying to see out from beneath that wild orange bush unfortunately attached to your head, and I'm also sure you'd rather be off somewhere counting your limitless freckles or contemplating the many benefits of hair dye, but some of us needs to get our coffee on. So, if there isn't a damn latte in my hand in about sixty seconds, shit is going to get really, really real." _

_I let my words linger in the air as I stared into his bright, wide green eyes with all the ferocity I could muster, but before the kid could move, an even more terrified blonde girl had rushed up beside him and pushed a nice, warm latte into my hand. I smiled brightly at the girl and sweetly said, "Thank you," which had brows furrowing and lips frowning. Hilarious! I walked out into the crisp New York air, laughing and sipping that hot deliciousness just as my phone started ringing._

_Rachel Berry's freakishly wide smile beamed up at me from the caller ID as I glanced down at my phone before tapping the button to the accept the call and putting the phone to my ear as I strutted down the sidewalk. "Go for Snix," I said and could almost hear Berry's frown, which had me chuckling before she could even say anything._

"_Santana, while I respect your right to answer your personal cellular phone however you see fit, surely a simple, polite 'Hello' would be more appropriate. What if I had been a potential employer calling to inquire about your credentials or to request an interview for possible employment?" _

_I rolled my eyes at the midget's long-windedness, because damn… What could be said in a sentence of five words or less always ended up as a damn Shakespearean soliloquy when talking to Rachel freaking Berry. That saying, you know, "Less is more," is like some form of blasphemy to her. _

"_Chill dwarf," I said, and though I heard her scoff, I knew she didn't take much offense to my name-calling anymore. I had long since moved on from saying shit like that to torment her, and now every little name was like my own strange form of affection for the people I considered friends. "That's what caller ID is for, and had you been calling me to offer employment, I'd have to decline anyway, because I refuse to work for anyone not tall enough to ride roller coasters. It's like child labor in reverse."_

"_Santana, you are hardly taller than me, and I assure that I am of adequate height to partake in such activities were I inclined to do so," she snapped, and I just laughed at that, smiling as I came to a stop at the corner and waited for the little digital stick figure to signal my turn to cross the street. _

"_Okay, okay, I got you," I replied. "What's up, Berry?"_

"_I was calling to inquire as to whether you would like to meet me for dinner this evening," she said, and I couldn't help but smile, because though I refused to say that shit out loud, I had become pretty fond of Berry in the few months we had been living together. Sure, I had warmed up to her a lot in the last two years of high school, but it was no secret that she had really come into her own after her move to the city and was so much more tolerable and considerably more attractive thanks to Lady Hummel's gay makeover and a pleasing change in wardrobe. So yeah, it made me smile that the dwarf actually wanted to hang with me. A few years ago, I would have gagged at the mere idea, but now, Rachel Berry—repeat, Rachel Freaking Gold-Star Berry—was one of my best friends. _

"_I have just received the most marvelous news that I would like to share with you," she continued, "and while I invited Kurt to join us, he has a prior engagement, so it would just be the two of us."_

"_Sure Berry, what time?" I asked._

"_Would eight o'clock be acceptable?" _

"_Sounds good. Just text me the address," I told her, and she squealed that ridiculously high-pitched squeal of hers that signifies the transcendent excitement of her little dwarven soul, and while I winced as it spilled into my ear and threatened the survival of my ear drum, I couldn't help but smile and laugh. She agreed to text me the address before hanging up and letting me get back to my day. I smiled and shook my head as I made my way through the doors of a boutique to apply for a job. _

* * *

_I slipped quickly into our apartment and all but ran over to the curtained-off section that was my make-shift room to change clothes, because my heels were killing me and I knew that Rachel wouldn't have enough time after her last class to change clothes before dinner anyway, so comfy clothes were definitely a must. I left my hair down but changed into some skinny jeans, a loose white v-neck tee, and a comfortable pair of kicks before grabbing my purse and heading back out._

_ I double-checked the information for the restaurant where I was supposed to meet Rachel for dinner and recognized the place. It was only a few blocks from our apartment, so I decided to walk, and while I made my way down the sidewalk, I called her to let her know that I was running a bit late but was on my way, because God knows how intense Rachel Berry could be about punctuality. Hopefully she'd be in a good enough mood, though, about whatever her "marvelous news" was that she would spare me the lecture just this once, but she didn't answer the phone. It just kept ringing and ringing and ringing, and eventually I got her overly perky voicemail, which I thought was odd, because surely she was already waiting for me at the restaurant. I tried again but only got the same result, so I shrugged it off and picked up my pace a bit. I was only about two blocks from the restaurant at that point anyway._

_ I had just turned the corner to come onto the last block when I got a text from Rachel saying she was running late as well, to which I was significantly shocked of course, because her instructor had held her after class to discuss an upcoming audition, but that she'd be there shortly and was only a few blocks away. Not a big deal, I figured, and made my way to the restaurant to wait for her._

_ About twenty minutes later, sitting at the restaurant by myself, I was starting to get seriously worried because Rachel still hadn't shown and hadn't called either. I dialed her number but received no answer and that's when I got a sick feeling in my stomach and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled and stood at attention. I tried again just to be sure and when she didn't answer the second time, I shot up from my seat and left the restaurant, heading off in the direction she would have been coming from after leaving NYADA. I didn't really have a clue as to what I was expecting, but I guess I was just hoping I would run into her and physically see that she was fine and was just dragging her ass, to which I would then bark some random insult and we would be on our merry way. _

_ I only got about two blocks from the restaurant and was calling Rachel again when I heard it. "Don't tell me not to live, just sit and putter. Life's candy and the sun's a ball of butter." The opening lines of "Don't Rain on My Parade," spilled into the night, mingling with the sounds of traffic and heels clicking on the sidewalk, and having heard it a million times before, I knew it was Rachel's phone. Her ringtone was a recording of herself singing the damn song, and I'd recognize that voice anywhere. _

_As soon as I heard it, my stomach clenched painfully and I felt sick all over. I glanced around, looking for the short-stack, but I didn't see her anywhere and the ringtone had stopped as her voice spilled into my ear when her voicemail picked up. I immediately hung up and dialed again, and as soon as the song filtered into the air again, I followed the sound to the opening of an alley just a few feet in front of me, and there, screen cracked and flashing up a splintered picture of my own face from just beneath the edge of a dumpster was Rachel's phone. I wanted to just turn around and run, because I didn't even want to think about what that meant, but instead I bent and scooped up her phone before sprinting around the dumpster and into the alley. I instantly halted as I realized how dark the alley was and I was already on edge, so I lit up the flashlight on my phone and pulled a small pocketknife as well as a can of pepper spray from my bag before continuing forward._

_I kept my mind on only positive things as I continually tried to comfort and reassure myself, because how in the hell could Rachel Berry of all people be attacked and someone not be alerted to what was going on. I mean, the girl had lungs for days. Her screams would have rung all the way back to Ohio, unless…Nope, no, I couldn't go there. I couldn't even fucking think about it. _

"_Rachel?" I called, but received no answer as I continued to make my way into the alley. It was a dead-end alley, and I could see the brick wall of the building it ended in just ahead where several more dumpsters were positioned. I rotated my phone left and right and down so that I could see where I was walking and keep a lookout for my friend, and that was when I noticed the shoe on the ground just to my left. It was one of Rachel's dance shoes, and I could feel the bile rising up my throat as I tried to hold it together and keep going, calling out to her only to continually receive no answer. _

_As I neared the end of the alley, I found more things that I recognized as Rachel's. Her purse, contents spilled onto the dirty pavement, wallet opened and empty, was littered not too far from her shoe, and at that point, I was just praying with every fucking inch of me that I was going to find her alive. I was only a few feet from the end of the alley now, and so I aimed my phone forward and down, and I instantly cried out loud, a sob wrenching up from my fucking soul, as the light from my phone spilled across the ground and illuminated a small, dirty, white foot peeking out from behind the nearest dumpster. _

"_Oh god," I whispered as I rushed forward and rounded the edge of the dumpster, and there, sprawled on the ground, naked but for the ripped tatters of her remaining clothes and covered in blood was Rachel Berry. I dropped to my knees as tears ripped from my eyes and great, heaving, guttural sobs soared up my throat and spilled from my lips. There was blood spilling across her exposed chest and stomach as well as running down her thighs as I shined my light on her. I felt my guts clench and my stomach churn, because she was naked, and in my head, that could only implicate one thing. There was a wadded rag stuffed in her mouth, which would explain why no one had heard her scream, and I carefully pulled it out before yanking her into my lap and slapping at her cheeks. _

"_Rachel!" I screamed, my slaps growing in intensity as I begged for her to wake up. "Rachel, come on! Please, please, don't be dead. Don't be dead. Come on; come back to me, Rachel." I tried to rub some of the blood away to find the source of it and that's when I noticed the knife wounds, at least two to her abdomen and one in her shoulder. My stomach only bottomed out again, and I couldn't fucking think. I didn't know what I was doing or what I was supposed to do. My senses were on overdrive, everything assaulting me at once, and I had to force myself to stay conscious, because my vision had gone blurry and black and my head was spinning._

_I took several deep breaths to try and calm myself, and my head cleared just enough to think that I should call 911, but just then I realized where we were. I knew we were less than a block from the nearest hospital (how fucking rich is that), and at the rate Rachel was bleeding, I was afraid that waiting for an ambulance in this traffic would take too long and I absolutely refused to let Rachel freaking Berry die in my arms. So in a split-second decision, I tugged Rachel's naked, bloodied body into my arms and dragged myself up to my feet, and just as I did, I felt her fist clench into my shirt. I looked down and was met with wide, terrified eyes that I could only just make out in the dark since I'd stuffed my phone back into my pocket before lifting her. She gripped me tightly and I heard her say my name, just my name, and how she knew it was me, I'll never know, but somehow she did. Maybe she could see better in the dark than I could or maybe she had heard me yelling at her somehow, but in that moment, I didn't fucking care, because all I really wanted was for her to know that I was there and that there was no way in hell that I was going to let her die. _

"_It's gonna be okay, Rachel," I said quickly as I took off, tearing down the alley with her in my arms and sprinting harder than I'd ever sprinted in my life, because it was the only thing I could do…to save her. I felt her tug my shirt again before her grip slackened entirely and I knew she was gone again. I ran as hard and as fast as I could, shouting at people to get the fuck out of my way, and strangely enough, all I could think was how grateful I was for Sue Sylvester and her ridiculously torturous cheerleading conditioning, because even though my thighs and calves and arms were all screaming in protest, that conditioning was the reason I could do this, and it would be the reason that Rachel Berry didn't die tonight. _

_I heard people's gasps and their "oh gods" as I weaved in and out of the sidewalk traffic, but I didn't spare a single one of them a glance or a word except to yell for them to move, and before I even realized how far I'd gone, I was stumbling through the sliding doors of Bellevue's Emergency Room, screaming my fucking lungs out._

"_Help me!" I shouted, my voice cracking as tears carved heavy rivers down my cheeks and Rachel's blood soaked straight through my clothes and washed over my skin. "Somebody, please, fucking help me!"_

* * *

"And that was when the doctors took her?" the detective asked, and I could do nothing but nod as I raised a bloodied but dry hand up to wipe the tears from my cheeks. Quinn was as rigid as a statue at my side and her fingernails dug painfully in my palm and forearm. I glanced over at her and saw that her face was just as wet as my own and her chest was heaving, rising and falling so rapidly that I was afraid she might hyperventilate, but she said nothing, only clutching onto me to keep herself grounded, and I could only hold onto her as well as my heart ached in my chest. It was as if someone had wrapped an iron fist around the muscle and was attempting to squeeze it into dust, and all I could do was hurt and hurt and hurt.

"Alright, Santana, that's good. Thank you. I know that was incredibly difficult for you," the detective said softly and I turned to look at her again. "Listen, I should prepare you. It isn't uncommon for victims of rape to cling to the first person of comfort they encounter after an attack such as the one your friend suffered, and in this instance, that person would be you. I'm not sure if you too are very close, but just be prepared for that. She might cling to you or turn to you for comfort or strength, and the best you can do is just to try and be there for her as much as possible or assist her in seeking outside help such as support groups or one-on-one therapy. It's going to be a difficult process to recovery for her, and she will need a strong support system. Okay?"

"Okay," I whispered quietly, my voice cracking as I said it. I watched then as she shifted in her chair before moving to kneel right in front of me. She reached out and rested a hand on me knee and looked me right in the eye before saying, "As scary as this is and as horrible as you feel right now, you need to know, Santana, that you are a hero. You saved Rachel's life, okay? You're a hero."

At that, I lost it, and to my surprise, so did Quinn. I felt Quinn's hand come up to cup around my cheek, and she pulled me into her, my head dropping to her chest as we sobbed heavily into one another. The detective patted my knee affectionately before rising from the floor. I felt Quinn reach a hand out to take the detective's card as the woman told us she'd be in touch before leaving, and just like that, we were alone; just two girls holding fiercely onto one another and desperately trying not to fall apart.


	6. Chapter 6: To Be A Hero

**A/N: Hello everyone. I just wanted to thank everyone who has read and reviewed, favorited, and followed this story. It truly means more to me than I can say. I hope you all continue to enjoy! XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Six: To Be A Hero**

After what felt like hours of just sitting in the waiting room wrapped around each other, shaking like leaves desperately trying to hang onto their branches, Quinn and I were snapped out of our daze by a young doctor. When he came into the waiting room, glancing around at the few people scattered about, I instantly knew he was there for us. I'm not sure how I knew. I guess it was just a feeling, but I couldn't stop that twisting in my gut as I waited for him to say something, anything.

"I'm looking for the family of a Rachel Berry," he announced to the room, and I felt Quinn stiffen beside me before she slowly raised her hand to signal to him that we were the family he was looking for. He frowned a bit, I guess confused as to why there were only two teenaged girls waiting, before walking over to us. I watched as his eyes tracked over my body, taking in the blood and the grime before he seemed to snap out of it and finally said, "I was asked to keep you updated on Miss Berry's condition, and as of right now, she is still in surgery and most likely will be for a few more hours, at least. Unfortunately, that's all I have for you right now, but I will come out periodically to keep you updated, okay?" We nodded and he finished by saying, "In the meantime, the cafeteria is just two floors down if you're hungry, and there is a gift shop on the first floor with a few clothing options if you'd like. I'll speak with you both soon." He gave me a soft smile before nodding and turning to leave.

We sat together in silence again, just mulling over everything. I felt dead…just completely and utterly dead. My body was heavy and exhausted and aching for sleep, but I couldn't allow it. I couldn't close my eyes, because I was terrified of the images I might see or of not being awake if something happened. My mouth and throat felt dry and itchy, aching every time I tried to swallow, and my face felt painfully tight from the massive wash of dried tears that had caked into whatever makeup was left on my face. I could only imagine how I must look—like complete hell, which I guess was pretty fitting considering that that's what I felt like and that that's exactly what I'd been through.

I sighed heavily just as I felt Quinn rub my arm and turn toward me. When I looked up at her, her face was ghostly white and her eyes were reddened and watery. She tried to smile at me, but it looked more like a grimace and I certainly couldn't blame her. I squeezed her hand affectionately, and that was when she finally broke the silence.

"Come on, Santana," she whispered. "Let's find a bathroom and get you cleaned up, okay?" I just nodded and let her pull me up from the plush comfort of my chair. As soon as I was on my feet, though, my knees gave out and I toppled into her. My body was lead, and I couldn't lift it. Every little movement took more effort than I had to give. Quinn caught me easily though, slipping one of my arms around her shoulder and letting me lean on her as we followed the directional signs leading to the restroom.

When we stumbled through the swinging door into the restroom, Quinn led me over to the sinks and I leaned heavily on one as she wetted several paper towels and began to wash my face. New tears slipped from my eyes as I watched her. She was crying silently as she gently washed the makeup, blood smears, and tear stains from my face before moving to clean my neck and my hands. It took a while to entirely rid my hands of Rachel's blood. It had dried and caked into my skin, so she ran the warm water and scrubbed softly at my fingers, palms, and forearms as she moved them under the water. I don't think I had ever loved Quinn Fabray more than I did in that moment. Her strength was staggering and her affection just made me want to crawl into her and hide from the world, just claim some sort of refuge in the familiarity and comfort of my best friend. I wanted to let her harbor me, but all I could think in that moment, while she washed away the evidence of everything that had happened, was that someone should be doing this for Rachel. Someone should be stroking her soothingly, washing away her pain, and promising her comfort and shelter, and that only broke my heart.

"She was right, you know," I heard Quinn whisper softly. I looked at her, brows furrowed in a silent question, and she only sighed before explaining. "That detective, she was right. You saved Rachel's life." Her voice cracked as she said the words and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. "You're a hero."

I don't know why, but as soon as the words slipped across her lips, anger flared in my gut and I snapped, "Don't. Don't say that."

She only looked at me sadly before squeezing my hand and saying, "No, Santana. You are." And before I could stop it, that rage ripped up my throat and shook my entire body as it shot through my mouth and I slapped her hands away, screaming, "Stop! Just fucking stop, Q!"

Quinn stepped toward me again, reaching for my hands, but I just pushed her away again. I don't even know why I was so mad, but for some reason, the words just weren't sitting right with me, and suddenly all I could feel was pure, unadulterated fury for all that I had been through that night and all that Rachel had been through, and I just completely broke. "Don't touch me! Just stop!"

"Santana, please—" She started, stepping toward me again, but I just backed away, shaking my head as tears scorched my cheeks. "No!" I screamed. "Don't you get it, Q?! I don't want to be a fucking hero! I shouldn't have to be a fucking hero! This shit…this…"

"Santana," she tried again, but I wasn't hearing it. My heart was racing frantically in my chest and I couldn't stop it. I couldn't calm it. I couldn't fucking breathe.

"No, no, goddammit, NO!" I shouted, my voice echoing madly around the tiled room. "It's not supposed to be this way, Quinn! It's not supposed to be like this! Rachel is NINETEEN, Q! She's just a kid. We're all just kids, and this…it's not supposed to be like this. This isn't supposed to happen to us." My voice broke and trembled as it died in my throat on the last words and the next thing I knew, I was on the floor, the cold of the tile seeping through my jeans and freezing my legs as great heaving sobs racked my body and violently stole my breath. In an instant, Quinn was beside me, crawling onto the floor and pulling me into her lap, fiercely wrapping her arms around me. She planted kisses in my hair and rocked me back and forth as she whispered softly to me through her own tears.

"I know, San, I know," she told me, and guilt bubbled uncomfortably in my gut at the way I had pushed her away, had screamed at her, but I knew she understood even if I didn't fully understand it myself.

"Oh god, Q," I moaned as I cried heavily, gripping onto her as I trembled in her arms. "So m-much. There was so much fucking b-blood, Q, and she…she…was n-naked and…and she fucking…she t-tried to d-die on me, Q. I c-couldn't…I couldn't…I d-didn't know wh-what to do. Quinn, I d-didn't know…" I didn't even know what words were spilling from my own lips because my head was a riddled mess of haunting pictures, flashing and flickering and taunting me until I wanted to claw at my fucking eyes and at my chest and just rip out my own heart so that I wouldn't have to feel this way. I just wanted it to go away. I just wanted…I just wanted to go back to before, before all of this. I just wanted to go back to being a fucking kid whose only care in the world was finding a damn job. I just wanted to wake the hell up.

My voice was a ragged mess and my words…hell, I don't even know if they were understandable at that point—just a cluster of stutters and stammers and great, gasping, aching moans, but Quinn just held me. She just rocked me through it, until I could breathe again. As much I loved Quinn for her strength and her comfort in that moment, I couldn't help but wonder when she was going to break. I knew she was trying to keep it together, to stay strong for me, but Rachel was her best friend, maybe even closer to her than I was, and I knew she was hiding her pain and her fear and her own torment. She was hiding her heart, protecting it from her own grief, and I knew…I just knew that she'd break at some point. I just hoped that I would be able to be there for her when it happened the way she was there for me.

But most of all, I just hoped we could both be there for Rachel, in whatever ways she needed us to be, because when all of this really hit her, when the magnitude of it all finally sunk in, she would be wrecked. And Quinn and I? Well…we would have to pick up the pieces and put her back together again.


	7. Chapter 7: Being Pretty

**Chapter Seven: Being Pretty**

Two hours and two updates later, Rachel was still in surgery and I was curled up in a chair in the waiting room on my own. Quinn had gone down to the gift shop about ten minutes ago to buy me a new shirt so that I could rid my body of the last visual evidence of Rachel's attack that still stuck to my skin as if the material had somehow woven into my flesh, branding me with tragedy. It took me forever to agree to let her go. I'd been clinging to her since my little rage-fest in the bathroom and didn't want to be on my own again, but I'd finally agreed after a few hours of her telling me that seeing Rachel's blood all over my shirt was upsetting her and would just continue to upset me. She was right.

Neither of us had bothered with the cafeteria. I don't think we could have eaten even if we wanted to. My stomach had been in knots for hours and all I really wanted was to sleep and to see Rachel, see with my own eyes that she was okay, because some doctor telling me once every hour just wasn't enough. Nothing felt like enough, but at the same time, everything felt like too much. It was maddening.

Just as I was about to text Quinn and ask her to grab me a coffee on her way up, the door to the waiting room opened and I heard a nurse say, "You can wait in here sirs and a doctor will be out to update you both as soon as possible." And then I saw them—Rachel's dads being ushered into the room by the very nurse who had just spoken, both of them still with their carry-on bags slung over their shoulders, and my stomach just bottomed the hell out. My heart instantly started hammering in my chest, because no. No, no, no, I couldn't do this. I couldn't face them like this. My clothes were soaked and stained with their daughter's blood for fuck's sake. I needed a doctor or that detective or Quinn, because I couldn't do this. I couldn't tell them everything. I couldn't go down that road again, not with Rachel's dads; not with anyone.

My instinct in that moment was to bolt, just to jump from my seat and take the hell off, but instead, I rose shakily to my feet and watched as their eyes instantly locked with mine. Their gazes dropped at the same time, taking in my clothing. I heard them both gasp and my stomach plummeted again. I was trembling from my head to my toes, and I could feel my throat closing up, burning and refusing to allow any air to pass into my lungs and just let me fucking breathe. They started to make their way toward me, and for the life of me, I didn't have a single clue as to what I should do or how I was going to even force the words out, the words that I knew they'd need to hear; the words telling them exactly what had happened to their little girl.

Just before they reached me, though, the damn heavens opened up and whatever god was watching decided, for once, to take some fucking mercy on me, because Quinn walked through the door and instantly shot to my side. She nodded to Rachel's dads who were now standing right in front of us, eyes teary and fearful, before turning toward me. She cupped my face in her hands and whispered, "You don't have to do this, Santana. Go change, and I'll talk to them. I've got this. Go ahead." I nodded and pulled her into a hug as she slipped the shirt she had bought me into my hand before pushing me toward the restroom.

As I took shaky steps toward the restroom, I stopped just before rounding the corner and turned to look back at them. Quinn was hugging Rachel's dads, and my heart ached for them and for her, for what Quinn was about to endure in recounting my own story and for what the Berry men were about to endure in hearing it. It just wasn't fair. None of this was fair, and none of it was right. I had never hated life more than I did in that moment. I shook my head, letting out a heavy sigh as tears slipped down my cheeks, and I finally rounded the corner and stepped into the restroom to change out of my blood-stained shirt.

* * *

As shallow as it seemed, I used to really love my reflection. I was a pretty girl, you know? All those times in my life when it felt like everything was just falling apart, when I was terrified of who I was, when I struggled with my identity and with my sexuality, when I was outed before I was ready, when my abuela disowned me, when Brittany couldn't love me the way I needed her to or dated some idiot boy and left me behind, the first time and the second time and every time after that that I dumped a slushy in someone's face and pretended like it didn't bother me—through all of those times, I only ever felt like I had one thing. I would stand in front of the mirror, just stare at myself, and think, _you're a pretty girl, Santana_. _If nothing else…you're a pretty girl. _

But as I stared into my own reflection in a hospital restroom, I just felt empty and ugly and alone. All I could see when I looked into my own haunted eyes was every cruel, heartless, stupid, stupid, stupid thing I'd ever done to Rachel Berry. I'd made her life a living hell for at least two years of our time in high school together, and for what? To prove my status as one of the head bitches of McKinley High? To try and make her feel as horrible inside as I did, hating myself every day? To try and bring her down to my own level of insecurity? Yeah…maybe; because Rachel was the most secure person I'd ever met. She never questioned who she was or what she wanted. She knew. She always knew, and nothing and no one could ever bring her down or dampen her dreams. She was a rock through every slushy and every insult and every degrading, manipulative trick that me and Q played on her, and the sickest and most astounding thing about all of it was that she loved us.

She loved us no matter how terrible we were. Sure, she let her anger get the better of her and took the bait every now and then, like the time she told me I'd only ever be able to work on a pole, but most of the time, she never faltered. Most of the time, she just slapped on that Rachel Berry gold-star smile and continued to try to win us over. Most of the time, she saw us even when we couldn't see ourselves. She never stopped trying to teach us that we could be so much more than just a couple of high school cheerleaders, more than selfish, more than easy, more than mean, more than background vocals, and more than just a couple of Lima losers getting high on bringing others down. Everything that we had always been terrified of admitting we always wanted to be—she made sure we knew we could be them. She made sure that we knew we were special.

Rachel was…this, this shouldn't have happened to her. Not to anyone, but especially not to her.

What the fuck was wrong with me? I was such an idiot. How could I…how was I supposed to make up for everything? How was I supposed to fix it all, fix this…fix her? How was I supposed to show her that I was sorry, and that I would do anything now to take it back, to change it all? The questions bombarded me like a fucking barrage of bullets, plunging into my flesh and stinging, burning, aching. I didn't have any answers. I didn't have a damn clue. The only thing that I did know was that I had to find a way to make it right, to show Rachel that she was special, too; that she was the most special one of us all.

* * *

I had to literally peel my shirt from my stomach. It was sticky and painfully attached to my flesh, and when I finally was able to pull it over my head, I looked down at my heaving chest and quivering abs, my bra and flesh stained red and prickling in the cold of the room. I ran my fingers over my skin, marked with all that Rachel had lost that night and my heart clenched in my chest, and realization hit me so hard that it knocked the air from my lungs, my breath slamming forcefully through my lips.

Everything was going to change now. Everything would be different, and nothing would ever, ever be the same.

I could swear I had cried every possible tear I could cry that night. I was so sure that I'd run myself dry, that there couldn't possibly be anything left in me, but I was wrong. As my fingers slipped over my stomach, tracing the crimson-stained skin, new tears spilled from my eyes and dripped over my chin, splashing onto my exposed flesh. My head ached, pounding and pounding and threatening my ability to stay on my feet. I just wanted to let myself fall away from the world, from consciousness. Every part of me hurt—my flesh, my muscles, my bones, my eyes, my cheeks, my head…and everything on the inside, too; my stomach, my lungs…and my heart. It all just hurt too much.

I wetted some paper towels in warm water and slowly washed the evidence of Rachel's blood from my flesh, not evening bothering with my shirt. I wadded it into a ball and tossed it in the trash, unable to stand the sight of it even a second longer, and finally…finally I felt clean; at least, on the surface, I did. I slipped into the t-shirt that Quinn had bought me, a gray tee with the words I Love New York printed across the front, and I couldn't help but think that those words would be more appropriate if that "Love" had a "d" on the end of it, because in that moment, I didn't love New York. I loved it before…but now, I just felt like the city had betrayed me. I felt like it had betrayed Rachel. All her life, all she wanted was New York City and Broadway, but it was in the city of her dreams that her life had nearly been taken from her. So yeah…in that moment and on this night, all I could do was look down at my shirt and think, _correction: I LOVED New York. _

* * *

When I stepped out of the restroom, I hesitated a moment, even more terrified of facing Rachel's dads now that they were sure to know everything that had happened, at least my version of what had happened. I was afraid of the fear and the heartbreak that I knew I would see in their eyes, because I knew…I knew I wouldn't be able to handle it. I had hit my quota of heartbreak for the night or for a fucking lifetime rather. But after several silent moments of just standing there awkwardly outside the restroom, I took a heavy breath and forced myself to move.

I came around the corner and nearly slammed into Quinn. Her hands came out to grab my shoulders and steady me while my hands only twisted in the bottom of my new shirt and I stared into the floor. I don't know why, but I just couldn't look at her or at anyone. I felt lost and scared and just…broken.

"Hey…you okay?" she asked softly, rubbing her hands up and down my arms soothingly. Her voice was scratchy and fractured from crying, and I could only imagine how difficult it must have been for her to tell Rachel's dads everything. God, she was a rock. I wished in that moment that I could be stronger like her. I wished so many things. I nodded into my chest and said nothing. "I was just coming to check on you," she said before pulling me into a tight hug that I didn't return. I let myself melt into her embrace, but I kept my hands curled into the bottom of my shirt and my eyes set on the floor as my head rested against her shoulder.

"It's going to be okay, Santana," she whispered as she rubbed my back before pulling away and offering me her hand. "Come on, we'll go back in there together. What do you say?"

"Okay," I whispered and slid a shaky hand into hers, leaving my other clenched around the bottom of my shirt and curling the material back and forth between my fingers. I kept my head down as we walked back into the waiting room and we came to a stop just a few feet from where Rachel's dads were seated. I had to take several deep, steadying breaths before I could bring myself to lift my head.

I had only met Rachel's dads a few times, and I liked them both. They were hilarious and affectionate and such great fathers, but I knew that they must hate me on some level. I was the girl who'd tormented their daughter for years. How could they not hate me? And now…now they'd seen me covered in their kid's blood, and Rachel had been coming to meet me when she was attacked. It seemed like everything bad that happened to Rachel was connected to me in some way; at least, that's how it felt in that moment and I was just terrified of facing them.

When I lifted my head to finally look at them, both of them were rising from their chairs, eyes wide and tearful, and I tried like hell to think of something to say, but no words would come out. My voice refused to work, so I just helplessly stood there and watched as Leroy stepped toward me and before I could even process what was happening, he bent and scooped me up off the ground and into his arms. I didn't know how to react at first, hanging there in his arms with my feet dangling just above the floor, but then I just let myself feel it. I just let myself feel the comfort of an adult, of a father, as it washed over me and suddenly I was hugging him back. I clutched onto him desperately and buried my head in his neck, sobbing so loudly that I knew people must be looking, but I couldn't bring myself to care. He rubbed my back and continued to hold me as I cried into him and within seconds, another pair of arms folded around me as Hiram stepped up and pulled both me and his husband into him, and they both just held me.

"You saved her," I heard Leroy whisper against my hair and my heart exploded in my chest as I only sobbed louder and harder. I felt Hiram press a tender kiss to my cheek and say, "Thank you," and for the first time in a long time I thought that maybe I had done something right for once, that I had done something good.


	8. Chapter 8: Just Love Her

**Chapter Eight: Just Love Her**

When Hiram and Leroy came back into the waiting room after only ten minutes of being with Rachel, both Quinn and I looked up in surprise, confused as to why their visit had been so brief, but I guessed that maybe Rachel was still sleeping. She'd had a rough go of it after all. After the surgery, Dr. Hart had told us that there had been a few complications while Rachel was under. One of her lungs had collapsed, punctured by the jagged edge of a fractured rib, and her stats had briefly plummeted before they were able to repair the damage and thankfully stabilize her again. He said that while it would be a slow and painful process, he expected that, physically, Rachel would fully recover within six months to a year.

Hiram settled into the chair next to Quinn, wiping at his cheeks and sniffling quietly as his gaze devoured the floor. Q and I looked at each other worriedly, unsure of whether we should even ask or say anything at all, but before either of us could come to a conclusion, I felt Leroy's hand settle on my shoulder as he moved to stand next to me. My body trembled subtly as I turned to look up at him, afraid of what he might say, but when he did finally say something, my heart swelled in my chest.

"We tried to talk to her, tried to talk to her about what happened, but she was upset. She wouldn't even let us touch her. She's…" his voice cracked a bit and so he paused, swallowing thickly as he collected himself. "She just keeps saying the same thing over and over again. _Your_ name, Santana. Sweetie, she only wants to see you."

I let out a shaky breath as my pulse fluttered wildly, my blood scorching through my veins, and suddenly I was terrified. I was elated to see Rachel, of course, to see with my own eyes that she was alive and okay, but at the same time, I was so fucking nervous I could hardly breathe. What was I supposed to say to her? How was I supposed to comfort her if her own fathers had been unable to?

I remembered what that detective had said—that I should be prepared for this, that Rachel might cling to me, but it didn't mean that I was ready for that. I wanted to be a rock for her. I really did, but I was such a damn mess myself. If I couldn't keep it together for five minutes on my own, then how the hell was I supposed to keep it together for Rachel who would undoubtedly be an infinitely larger mess than I was? God, it should be Quinn. She's the strong one. She would know what to do, what to say. She would be able to be Rachel's rock, but not me. I wasn't the one Rachel really needed, no matter how much she might think that I was. I was terrified that all I would ever be able to really do was disappoint her, hurt her worse than she was already hurt.

"You can do this," I heard Quinn whisper in my ear as she squeezed my hand. See? There she was again, being the fucking hero that I supposedly was. It was her. It had always been her. She was the one whose friendship Rachel had always coveted and fought for. She was the one who Rachel had always idolized, and she was the one who knew Rachel the best. It should be her.

I turned to look at her, and I could only imagine how terrified I must look in that moment. If my face looked anything like how I felt then I'm surprised people weren't lining up right there in the hospital waiting room to cast my ass in the next major horror flick, because my heart was fucking hammering like an axe murderer had just burst into the damn room. "I don't know what to do, Q," I whispered to her, my voice a panicked, trembling mess as I tried to lose myself in the comfort of her hazel eyes and just escape the feeling of Leroy's hand on my shoulder. It felt so heavy in that moment, like it was full of a million hopes and expectations all weighing down on me like the world had just crashed and crumbled on top of me. "What…what do I do, Q? What do I do?"

She smiled sadly at me, and that was when I noticed her bottom lip trembling. Her eyes were wide and glistening as if she was desperately trying to fight back tears and just be strong for me, and suddenly I felt guilty. Since the moment Quinn had walked into that waiting room, she'd been nothing but my strength and my comfort, and I hadn't even been able to get over my own fucked-up trauma just long enough to try and comfort her in return. God, I sucked.

"I don't know," she whispered back to me, shaking her head a little as a single tear fell from one of her eyes and she instantly reached up to wipe it away. "But I think maybe…maybe you go in there, and you just love her. Just love her, Santana."

We stared at each other for a long time, both of us crying silently and both of us terrified and both of us just trying to figure out how the hell we were going to get past this, all of us, including Rachel. I let Quinn's words sink into me, and they played in my head on repeat as I nodded and slowly lifted myself up out of my chair.

* * *

_Just love her._

My heart hammered rapidly in my chest with every step I took through the halls of the hospital, but every other part of me felt like I was moving in slow motion.

_Just love her._

Everything seemed to speed past me, all the nurses and doctors scurrying about, none of them paying me any mind. Now that I wasn't covered in blood, I guess I no longer warranted any attention. I couldn't help but be relieved by that. I hated feeling their eyes on me before. It only reminded me that everything Rachel and I had been through that night had been unnatural and unkind and so…fucking…wrong.

_Just love her._

Sounds bounced around me as I creeped down the hallway, my steps small and slow. Machines beeped. Fingers clicked rapidly over keyboards. Pens scratched on charts. Doctors and nurses whispered to one another or chatted quietly. Feet shuffled and scuffed about on the tiled floors. Doors clicked open and closed. Elevators dinged their arrivals. And everything just sounded too loud…too overbearing. I tried to block them out, but they kept digging into me, so I focused on my steps, Quinn's words still echoing in my head along with the sound of my own frantic heartbeat. _Walk Santana, _I told myself. _Just keep walking._

_Just love her._

The air felt so thick around me that it was like breathing cough syrup and I nearly gagged as it spilled into my lungs and stayed there, churning, bubbling, and threatening to drown me from the inside out. My skin felt sticky with sweat and anxiety, and my hands and feet tingled—it was like that pins-and-needles feeling you get when your limbs have fallen asleep after staying in the same position for too long. I hated it. Every part of me was aching, and that ache wouldn't stop. It just kept burrowing further and further until it lived in my every cell.

_Just love her._

Colors ripped past me, the bright greens and blues of scrubs as the hospital's employees flitted around. They blurred and blended and made my eyes water painfully or maybe they'd been watering since before I'd ever even left my seat in the waiting room. God knows I'd been crying for what felt like decades at this point.

_Just love her._

I don't even know how it was that I finally got to my destination. I hadn't even really been paying attention to where I was going, too lost inside my head; too lost inside Quinn's words. But there I was all of a sudden…staring through the large glass windows separating me from where the source of my anxiety restlessly wriggled around in a large, white hospital bed.

And there _she_ was…Rachel. She'd been cleaned up, and her face was no longer streaked with grime, but there were tear tracks on her cheeks. Her eyes were glancing around to the sides of her bed and behind her, taking in the machines and their various sounds and screens. I could only imagine how scared she must be.

_Just love her, Santana._

And with that thought still rolling around inside my head and inside my heart, I took a deep, steadying breath and stepped around the glass and into Rachel's room. Within seconds, her deep, chocolate eyes locked onto mine and instantly softened.

"Santana," she whispered, and my name sounded different on her tongue than I'd ever heard it sound before…almost as if she had spoken it with reverence, with love. The sound of it sank into me, melting through my flesh and dancing around inside my heart, and suddenly I felt like maybe we would be okay, Rachel and me…maybe we could come back from this. Together.

She just kept staring into me as I shuffled awkwardly, shifting my weight from leg to leg as I stood silently at the foot of her bed. I didn't have the slightest clue as to why, but the way she was looking at me, her eyes so full of something…something I'd never seen there before, it touched me. It fluttered wildly in my gut and I just wanted to wrap around her and never fucking let go.

Finally, after another long moment of silence, she spoke to me again. "Come here," she said, her voice gravelly but still beautiful. I swallowed thickly and fought the tears threatening to escape again as I nodded and moved around to the side of her bed, ever closer to her. She reached out a weak, tired hand and wrapped it around my wrist before tugging gently at me, pulling me down to sit on the bed beside her.

When I settled gingerly on the edge of her bed, her hand slid down from my wrist and wrapped around my own hand, and I don't know why, but I immediately flipped her hand over and laced our fingers together, squeezing tightly for only a moment before easing up. The silence settled over us again as we both just stared down at our interlocked fingers, but it didn't feel awkward like all the other silences had felt that night. It didn't feel heavy or uncomfortable. It just was…it was nice.

"They said you carried me," she whispered after a long time, and I instantly felt bile rising up my throat as those haunting images swam around behind my eyes again, but I choked it back down and clenched my eyes tightly closed. I felt tears slide down my cheeks but I didn't wipe them away as Rachel whispered to me again. "My dads...they said you picked me up and you ran with me in your arms all the way here."

I kept my eyes tightly closed as I shakily let out a breath and said, "Anyone…anyone would have done the same th—"

"It wasn't anyone, Santana," she rasped, cutting me off quickly, and her voice…it was still so full of reverence, so full that I could hardly breathe in the wake of it. "It was _you_."

I finally let myself open my eyes and they instantly locked with Rachel's. She smiled softly at me, though her eyes reflected the pain she felt in every part of her, and I felt my heart break all over again.

"You saved my life," she said softly and then she reached up with her free hand, wincing in pain for only a moment before wrapping her fingers in the neck of my gift-shop shirt and pulling me down until my face was practically touching hers. My heart was thudding so heavily in my chest that I was sure she could hear it, and my mind was fucking racing, because her nose was brushing mine and I didn't know what the hell was happening. And then before I could internally freak out any further, she very gently pressed her lips to mine. It was only a second or not even a second, more like a millisecond, but I swear to fucking god that my heart just exploded in my chest like a barrel full of dynamite, and when she pulled back, she caressed my cheek and whispered, "Thank you, Santana."

It was a kiss of gratitude, and I guessed she'd only kissed me because she had a few fractured ribs and it'd hurt too much to hug me. I told myself it didn't mean anything. Nope. Nope. Nope. Don't go there, Santana. This was Rachel Freaking Berry; repeat, Rachel-Freaking-Berry. It was just a kiss, a barely there brush of lips that Rachel had given me just to thank me for saving her life, nothing more. But god, for some reason, it felt like so much more than that.

I suddenly had the urge to lift a hand and touch my lips where hers had only just barely been, but I fought the urge and pulled back instead, squeezing tightly to the hand still wrapped in my own and smiling softly down at her.

"Thank you for not dying on me," I whispered back to her as tears continued to slip down my cheeks, and then the silence settled in again and she sighed, a small comforted sigh that sounded like heaven. She was alive, and she would be okay…one way or another, she would be okay. We both would.

_Just love her, Santana._

Quinn's words drifted through my head again as I sat there quietly with Rachel, watching her drift off to sleep, and I suddenly realized that maybe I did…maybe I had for a long time. Or at least…maybe I could.


	9. Chapter 9: The Comfort of Friendship

**Chapter Nine: The Comfort of Friendship**

I woke up to the quiet sounds of gentle sobs and sniffles. I reached up to rub at my eyes, hissing a bit in pain as they stung and throbbed from the tears I'd shed. I blinked rapidly to try and bring the room into focus as the beeping sounds of Rachel's monitors spilled into my ears to layer atop the sobs that I had yet to identify, and the steady beeping quickly reminded me where I was. My reality slammed into me all over again with that realization—hospital…attack…rape…Rachel. Rachel. Rachel.

The room was darker, but light still streamed in from the hallway through the open door. I looked down to see that I was still in Rachel's hospital bed, only now I was nestled into her side, her head resting gently atop my shoulder. The sight made my heart explode in my chest and I suddenly had the urge to run my fingers through her long, dark hair but I resisted as I quickly realized that the sobs I had heard weren't coming from her. She was still soundly asleep, so after taking in the sight of her a moment longer and letting myself feel relieved by the peace that decorated her features in that moment, I finally looked away and that's when I discovered the source of the crying.

I turned to my left and my stinging eyes landed on ruffled and familiar blonde locks. Quinn was curled into a chair just next to Rachel's bed. She was bent over, her face pressed into her hands and her head resting against her knees, trying desperately to lessen the volume of her crying. I could see her body shaking with every sob as she wept into her hands, and seeing her that way made my chest feel tight and constricted. My throat burned fiercely as I swallowed and forced myself to move.

I slowly and quietly lifted myself up, carefully moving Rachel's head from my chest to lay it back against her pillow before I carefully slipped off of her hospital bed. When I gently rested my hand on Quinn's back, I heard her breath hitch, but she didn't lift her head. She only cried harder, and so I just acted without really thinking. I bent down, wrapping my hands around her shoulders and pulled her up just long enough to get her out of the chair. I then quickly took her place, settling down into the surprisingly comfortable chair and sighed at the warmth that still lingered in the seat before pulling Quinn back down with me. She dropped into my lap and I carefully hooked an arm under her knees and pulled her legs up into the chair, too. She curled up into a ball in my lap, her hands digging into my shirt and her head burrowing against my shoulder and into my neck.

I didn't really even think about what I was doing. I just followed my instincts, trying to give my best friend what I thought she might need in that moment, what I knew I would want if the roles were reversed. Sometimes, the world could just make you feel so fucking small. When things got scary or hard or just plain horrible, it only felt natural to revert back to childhood, to crave the closeness and comfort of crawling into someone's lap like a damn toddler and just letting yourself be held. Sometimes, it was the only thing that helped.

I rested my head on top of hers and rubbed small circles into her back as she sobbed in my neck. I did my best to rock her back and forth as I felt the wet heat of her tears soak into my shirt and into my flesh, and though I had no fucking clue what to say, I tried anyway. "I've got you," I whispered because I just wanted her to know that I did, that she wasn't alone, and that we would all get through this together, or at least I hoped we would. I don't know when the hell I became the comforter as opposed to the one being comforted, but I knew that Quinn needed this, needed me just like I had needed her before.

Her fist clenched, digging further into my shirt as my words drifted into her ears and reminded her that it was okay to cry, it was okay for her to not be everyone else's strength for once. Quinn had had to grow up so fucking early that it was like she'd forgotten that she, too, was still just a kid, that she was allowed to scared; that she was allowed to cry or to scream or to do whatever she needed, so I just tried to remind her that she could. She was allowed to not be okay, to just be broken like the rest of us.

As she continued to sob into my neck and I continued to rock and soothe her, I glanced up and over to Rachel's bed and I nearly yelped in surprise as I saw her wide, chocolate eyes locked onto me through the shadows of her hospital room. She didn't say anything and she didn't move, just watching me as I securely held and comforted our best friend in the dark. We stared into each other for a long time, and it was like her eyes were trying to dig into me, trying to move past the surface and down into my soul. It was working, because I swear I could feel her in there, in my soul, stirring around and igniting a wild fluttering in my chest.

We stayed that way for what felt like hours before I saw Rachel's eyes slowly close again and that was when I realized that Quinn was finally quiet and was moving in my arms. I shook my head quickly and looked down just as Quinn was lifting her head and adjusting so that she was now sitting up but still securely in my lap. She swiped her hands across her cheeks, chin, and neck to brush away the tracks of her tears and a heavy, heart-wrenching sigh stuttered across her lips when she turned to look at me. I ran a hand through her disheveled, blonde locks, and she smiled sadly at me.

"I was wondering when you were going to let go," I whispered to her, unsure of whether or not I should try to talk to her about what she was feeling, but deciding to try anyway just in case it was, in fact, the best thing to do.

I wasn't as heartless as everyone always thought I was, but it was certainly no secret that this, all of this…._feelings…_they weren't my thing. I didn't really know how to navigate through my own, let alone someone else's, but for Quinn and for Rachel, I would try. They were the most important people in my life now, and I wasn't going to fuck that up by failing them when they both needed me.

She shrugged her shoulders and somehow still managed to make it look graceful in that strange ballerina way that Quinn had somehow _always_ had about her, even when she was pregnant, and I almost laughed as that thought spilled through my head. Anything even remotely familiar just felt so fucking good in that moment. I wanted to latch onto the sarcastic bitch in my head and let the familiarity of it comfort me, but instead, I pushed aside my own need to fall back on my old, defensive habits, and just continued to be the supportive best friend that Quinn needed me to be right then. "I was just trying to be—" she started, but I quickly cut her off.

"Strong," I finished for her. "Yeah, I know, but you don't always have to be, Q." I swallowed thickly before saying, "If you need to cry, just cry. I'll be here."

We stared at each other for a long moment, both of us communicating in that silent way that'd we always been able to, and I could see in her eyes what she was trying to say to me. _Thank you. _I kept my gaze locked with hers and nodded subtly. _You're welcome._

We stayed that way for a long time, just broken and together and surrounded by only the sounds of Rachel's deep breathing and the monitors beeping steadily before I quietly asked, "What time is it?"

Quinn squinted down at the watch on her wrist, trying to read it through the slight shadows of the windowless room. "Close to 9 AM," she told me and I sighed heavily as exhaustion gnawed at my fucking bones and I just wanted to crawl back into Rachel's bed and go back to sleep. "I came down here about an hour after you left the waiting room and you were both asleep, so a nurse brought me a small chair so that I could stay with you guys. Rachel's dads were here for a while too, but they left a little over an hour ago. They were going to NYADA to talk to Rachel's teachers and get her some time off."

"Oh," I said quietly, nodding as she continued to speak, her raspy voice like a lullaby that only made me more desperate for sleep.

"Yeah," she said. "Rachel woke up not too long after I got here because she was in pain. I called the nurse in to give her some more morphine or whatever, and the nurse was going to wake you up. She said that it'd be better if you weren't in the bed with Rachel because her wounds were still really fresh and there was a chance that too much movement could rip her stitches, but Rachel practically bit her head off and told her to leave you alone."

My eyes instantly locked with Quinn's at those words and I couldn't help the fluttering that ignited again in my chest as I whispered, "Really?"

Q smiled softly at me and nodded, and then she actually laughed a bit which was like sweet fucking music to my ears because I had been feeling like none of us would ever laugh again. "Yeah, she was pretty scary," she said, and we both laughed at that. Oh god, that felt good. Laughing…and not just laughing, but laughing with my best friend—it was the best feeling I'd had in hours, and I was so thankful for it that my laughter nearly dissolved into tears as the gratitude and the reprieve of that moment swelled in my chest and in my heart. "Her HBIC glare was almost scarier than mine."

We laughed harder at that and it was like we were suddenly possessed, because we just lost it and starting cracking up uncontrollably. I didn't have a clue what was happening and it didn't seem like Quinn did either, but neither of us cared in that moment, because it just felt too good, like for just a few minutes the weight of the world had finally been lifted from our shoulders; like we were breathing for the first time in years.

Quinn then turned and locked eyes with me, snapping on that glare that I'd seen a thousand times before in high school, and in her best (and surprisingly accurate) imitation of Rachel, she cleared her throat and said, "You will not touch Santana, nor will you move her. While she was not wounded, she still requires just as much rest as I, and if she chooses to acquire that rest while surrounded by the comfort of a friend, then neither you nor I are going to deny her that choice. Surely as a medical professional, you are aware that over-exhaustion and lack of sleep can lead to severe health issues and even depression, and _surely_, you would not, _as a medical professional, _wish such hardship on anyone; so perhaps you should simply provide me with the pain medication I require and allow us to continue resting. Oh, and my friend Quinn, here, requires a more comfortable chair if you wouldn't mind providing that as well."

"…or something like that," she finished and by that point, I was laughing so hard that my ribs were screaming in pain. Q had lost it as soon as she'd finished speaking and was now gasping for air between rounds of laughter. She leaned into me and I wrapped an arm around her back as we wheezed and giggled and just let ourselves be free of our pain for a few glorious moments. It was beautiful, and it was…god, it was exactly what I needed.

"Well, it got you a more comfortable chair, didn't it?"

Rachel's voice broke through our laughter and Quinn and I instantly snapped our mouths closed, turning to look at the small girl in the bed next to us. She opened her eyes for only a moment, and I let out a heavy sigh of relief as I saw the tiniest hint of joy in those deep, chocolate pools. A small smile stretched Rachel's lips, and Quinn turned back to look at me. We locked eyes and then, before either of us could say anything, we both just burst into laughter again. It was perfect.

When Quinn was finally able to speak, she said, "That it did, Rach. Thank you." Rachel only rolled her eyes and smiled at us again before her eyes fluttered closed once more, and we watched as she seemed to fall back to sleep. However, just as we resigned to think that she was resting again, her quiet, beautiful voice drifted over to us once more.

"I love you both," she whispered softly, and I felt my heart clench tightly in my chest, a lump rising in my throat. I heard Quinn take a deep shaky breath before I felt one of her hands slip into mine and lace our fingers together. With her other hand, she reached over and clasped one of Rachel's hands, lacing their fingers together as well.

"We love you, too, Rachel," Q said quietly and I heard her voice crack a bit as she softly added, "so much."


	10. Chapter 10: All That Comes After

**A/N: Hello again friends. I want to thank everyone who has continued to follow and support this story, and a special thanks to all those who have reviewed. **

**Starting with the next chapter and moving forward, we will be getting into much more Rachel/Santana interaction and just overall Pezberry goodness. I hope you all enjoy. XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Ten: All That Comes After**

Quinn and I stood just outside of Rachel's hospital room with her dads as we waited for her to finish having her moment with Kurt. I'd called him shortly after Hiram and Leroy returned from speaking to Rachel's teachers at NYADA, and he'd gotten to the hospital in record time. I don't think I had ever seen the boy look so terrified in my life, and this was a guy whose actual life had been threatened before just for being gay. His face was stark white when we met him in the waiting room to walk him down to Rachel's room, and he didn't utter a single word for the longest time, just walking with us in silence.

Right before we got to Rachel's room, though, I felt his hand wrap around my wrist and pull me back. When I turned to look at him, his eyes were tearful and his bottom lip trembled as he whispered, "Santana, I'm scared."

My heart clenched painfully and my own tears threatened to spill, but I forced myself to suck it up and support my friend. Kurt and I weren't terribly close, but we had come to respect each other, sort of bonding through the whole Brody debacle, and so I actually cared about him. I wasn't about to just shrug him off and tell him to deal with it. I understood how he felt, because I was scared, too. I was scared every single time I had to look at Rachel and the evidence of what had happened—the bandages, the cast on her foot, the IV pumping morphine into her veins, and the monitors constantly beeping the status of her heart rate. Yeah…I was fucking terrified. We all were.

"I know," I told him, "but Rachel…she needs us now."

Tears slipped down his porcelain cheeks and I watched as he swallowed thickly, his hand clenching painfully around my wrist, before he finally nodded and loosened his grip. He didn't let go, though; at least, not until Rachel asked to speak with him alone for a few minutes.

And that's how we got to now—Quinn, and Rachel's dads, and I just shuffling around awkwardly outside of the room as we let them have their moment. I didn't have a clue what they were talking about, but it didn't really matter. I just figured Rachel saw how upset Kurt was and didn't want him to have to cry in front of all of us. God, she was always thinking about everyone else. I mean, yeah, she could be selfish and annoyingly self-centered at times, but even when she was obsessing over becoming a star or going on and on about her talent, she was still so fucking caring. She would drop anything, no matter how important, if one of her friends needed her, even if someone who wasn't really a friend needed her. It didn't matter. She'd helped me and Quinn countless times in high school despite the fact that we were terrible to her every chance we got. That's just who she was—a good person through and through.

"I'm so tired," I heard Quinn say beside me, snapping me out of my thoughts. I turned to look at her and could see the exhaustion written all over her face, and I knew that I had to look the same, if not worse. I nodded tiredly, rubbing at my eyes and leaning over to rest my head on her shoulder. She dropped her head gently on top of mine and we stood like that, our backs against the wall, until both of us nearly fell asleep that way.

We were jolted awake, though, when Dr. Hart showed up. We watched as he walked into Rachel's room, nodding to Kurt who quickly exited the room and joined us in the hallway. Dr. Hart seemed to chat with Rachel a bit as he checked her pulse and blood pressure, and then we all quickly turned away from the window when he walked over and shut the door before closing the blinds and effectively blocking our view anyway. I wasn't really surprised. I knew where Rachel's stab wounds had been and knew that the doctor would have to lift her gown up in order to inspect them. My stomach churned uneasily as the image of Rachel's blood seeping out of her abdomen and into my hands briefly flashed through my mind, and I had to swallow thickly and take several deep, slow breaths in order to keep myself from vomiting all over the damn place. I really didn't want to go all exorcist style in the middle of the damn hallway, spewing the contents of my stomach like a freaking human volcano, so I just did my best to keep my head clear from that point on. I just did my best to stay grounded.

After a few minutes, Dr. Hart emerged from Rachel's room and stepped over to her dads. "Good morning," he said with a kind smile and shook both of their hands. "As an update, I can tell you that Rachel is doing very well. Her vitals have been stable since her surgery, and her incisions as well as the entry stab wounds look excellent so far with no signs of infection. I would like to keep her for observation over the next couple of days, but if everything continues to hold steady, we will release her then. Due to the severity of the injuries to her abdomen and shoulder, as well as the fractures to her ribs, I want to avoid putting her on crutches for at least four-to-six weeks, so we will provide her with a wheelchair in order to get around during that time. Other than that, Rachel will need to come back a week after release in order to have her stitches removed, and again in eight weeks to have the cast on her foot changed. It's going to be a long recovery for her, but I have complete confidence that she will be just fine."

I completely tuned him out from that point on as he discussed a few more details with the Berry men and answered their few questions before shaking their hands again and walking away. All I could think about was how relieved I felt in that moment. Rachel was going to be okay. I don't think I'd ever felt more relieved in my entire life.

* * *

Later that day, Rachel's dads asked me to go with them to meet with a woman on the psychiatric floor of the hospital. I agreed to go with them even though I was fucking nervous as hell. Why the hell did I need to be there to talk to the psychiatrist? I mean, Rachel was the one who was attacked, so I didn't understand why they wanted me there, but I wasn't about to argue with whatever they needed in that moment; so, I just kept my mouth shut and went quietly with them.

Dr. Lachlan was an older woman. I would guess she was somewhere around sixty or so, salt-and-pepper hair, red-rimmed glasses settled on the bridge of her nose, and a white lab coat over her black pantsuit. Her face was severe, but her eyes seemed kind enough and she was pretty friendly when she greeted us at the door of her office, and so I felt at least a little better after that, but I was still pretty damn nervous. I just hoped that she wasn't going to try and make me talk about my feelings or some shit like that, because just…no. That was definitely not going to happen. Nope.

She showed us to a long, gray sofa in the corner of the room before settling herself into a large armchair of the same color just across from us. I kept my hands clasped tightly together in my lap as I tried to look at anything but her. My eyes darted around the room as she spoke a bit with Rachel's dads, and I took in the many filing cabinets and the oversized desk stacked with papers, a loaded pencil bucket, a red stapler, and a large computer. The walls were typical for a doctor's office—framed degrees from universities and medical school and posters depicting images of the brain or of depressed-looking people with headings like "Recovery is a Process," "The Benefits of Drug Therapy," and "Living With Schizophrenia," and other crap like that.

I was so caught up in devouring the room with my eyes that I'd missed it when the lady actually spoke to me. I felt Hiram place a hand on my knee and squeeze a bit, which effectively snapped me back into reality, and I quickly look over at him and blurted, "Huh? What?"

He smiled at me and patted my knee before nodding toward the psychiatrist, who quickly began speaking to me again. I actually heard her this time when she spoke to me, saying, "I was just asking how your interaction with Rachel has been thus far. Has she been distant with you? Affectionate? Clingy, perhaps?"

I gritted my teeth to keep from snapping at the woman, and I don't really know why, because Rachel _had _actually been a bit clingy with me, and I knew the lady didn't mean anything by it, but for some reason it just pissed me off to hear her refer to Rachel as clingy. The girl was attacked and raped and nearly fucking died for god's sake, so if she wanted to cling then let the girl cling in peace. Damn. Instead of saying any of that, though, I just shook my head to clear it out and did my best to offer the woman a tight smile before answering honestly.

"She's been a bit clingy, yeah," I told her and internally rolled my eyes at having to say that out loud, "and affectionate, but not distant. I think she feels better when I'm there." I don't really know why but my heart kind of swelled a bit and my stomach fluttered when I said those last words. I didn't even try to analyze the why of it. I wasn't even sure if I was really ready to know, or maybe a part of me already knew and I just wasn't ready to acknowledge it. Whatever. Now was definitely not the time.

"Yes, well, that is perfectly normal with cases like this," she said, nodding and reaching up to adjust her glasses.

Leroy then quickly jumped in, saying, "We've decided to take her back home with us while she heals." My head snapped to the left as his words hit me like a fucking hammer to the chest, and I stared at him incredulously, my jaw dropping into my damn chest, because…well, because _what the fuck?! _I really hadn't been expecting that, and suddenly I felt like the walls of the office were closing in around me and it was like I couldn't breathe. I don't know why hearing such news bothered me so much, because Rachel and I were just friends and I guess it was only natural that her dads would want to do something like that in light of everything, but god, even the thought of Rachel being back in Lima instead of in New York with me and with Kurt and fairly close to Quinn just didn't sit right with me. It didn't feel right at all. It felt, instead, like a fucking bomb dropping down my throat and exploding in my gut and before I even realized what I was doing, I was shaking my head violently and snapping out, "No, you can't do that!"

Leroy's eyes softened as he locked them with my own and reached out a hand to slip into mine. "Santana, honey," he said sweetly but I just kept shaking my head, tears building up in my eyes as he continued, "we feel that this is best for Rachel. She was attacked here, and she will need time to come to terms with that. She will want to be home while she heals, and then maybe, in time, she will be ready to return."

My heart was slamming so forcefully against my ribcage that I half expected it to rip right through the layers of bone and muscle and flesh and just drop dead into my lap on this fucking couch. If either one of them would have asked me in that moment why it was so important to me that Rachel stayed, I probably would have been able to come up with a thousand lame-ass excuses like the true bull-shitter that I had always been, but honestly, the only reason that was screaming through my head right then was that I needed her. I needed Rachel. It was anyone's guess as to why, but I couldn't deny to myself that I did. Maybe it was because I was nearly as traumatized as she was and I just needed to cling to her because she was the one that experienced this with me. I really didn't have a clue, but that was the only logical explanation I could come up with. As much as Rachel's dads, and Quinn, and Kurt wanted to be there for her, they couldn't understand it like I could. I was there with her. She and I…we were in that same dark fucking place together—just Rachel and me. We needed each other.

"You're wrong," I said quickly, still rapidly shaking my head from side to side. "You can't take her back to Lima."

"Santana," Hiram said, jumping in to support his husband, "I know you want Rachel to stay here, but she needs time." He then turned to the woman sitting quietly in front of us and added, "Surely Dr. Lachlan would agree that this is the best course of action for us to take."

"Actually," Dr. Lachlan said, adjusting her glasses again as her eyes locked with mine for a second and softened before turning back to Hiram, "I agree with Santana."

As soon as those words left her mouth, it was like the fucking heavens opened up and shined down on me, and I swear I could've kissed the woman in that moment. I let out a heavy, stuttering sigh and quickly wiped away the tears that had slipped from my eyes, and waited for her to explain.

"I'm sorry, what?" Leroy asked her, sounding genuinely surprised and actually a little angered by her words.

She simply nodded and said, "What happened to your daughter is terrible, and there is no denying that she will need a significant amount of time to heal and to process everything and everyone in her life should certainly be sensitive to that; however, one of the common errors made with victims of rape is that of isolation. Rape victims, on their own or with the aid of friends and family, have a tendency to retreat after their attack, to become detached and depressed, and unfortunately as a result, their lives come to a grinding halt. This should be avoided. Rachel needs to see that her life is not over because of this tragedy, that she can continue to live and carry on with her life with as much normalcy as possible. If you uproot her from her current life and allow her to stop living it by sheltering her, she will become distant and closed off, and it will prevent her from truly healing and moving past this. So, she needs to be motivated to carry on as she normally would, whatever that entails—classes, time with friends, and the like. If you treat her like a victim, she will feel as one, and it is important that she does not come to see herself that way. She needs to be able to feel as normal as possible, and secluding and pitying her will lead to the complete opposite outcome."

She paused for a moment, and I took the opportunity to glance at both of Rachel's dads. They didn't look too happy with the doctor's assessment and advice, but that was understandable. I could only imagine how scared for Rachel they both must be, and I think any normal, loving parent's instinct would be to coddle and baby their child when something terrible happens; however, I was comforted by the fact that I knew they wouldn't go against Dr. Lachlan's advice. They would always do what was best for Rachel, even if they didn't necessarily agree with it or like it.

"Also," she continued after a few moments of silence, "it is very important that Rachel not be separated from Santana, at least for a while." My heart started hammering again as those words spilled into me like a breath of fresh air, and I found myself nodding with everything she said, because god, I was just so fucking grateful for every word.

"Why is that?" Hiram asked her, sounding genuinely curious, so I didn't take any offense to it.

"Santana is the only person in Rachel's life who can come close to understanding how she is feeling and will be feeling for some time, because this same experience has greatly affected her as well," she told us, and I couldn't help but think how strange it was to hear her talking about me almost as if I wasn't even there. "Also, Santana was the first person Rachel saw and spoke to after her attack, and thus, Rachel will most likely view her as her greatest comfort in the coming days, a safe haven of sorts, which is evident given the clingy and affectionate behavior that Santana mentioned before. The fact that Santana was already a friend and a constant in Rachel's life before the attack will also greatly help in restoring Rachel's sense of normalcy and that is the main goal here. So, I suggest that you allow her to go about her life as she normally would and maintain her current living situation, friendships, and work or classes if either applies as long as she is physically capable of continuing with them."

I took a deep breath and tried to calm my heart because in that moment, it was swelling like a damn balloon and threatening to float right up my throat and out into the air of the office. I was Rachel's safe haven. That's what the lady had said, that I basically was the best thing for Rachel, the thing she needed most in order to help her heal. Wow…if I could put into words how fucking incredible that made me feel in that moment, I would have shouted it out loud, but I didn't have any words. All I had was a truckload of rocking, rolling, oozing, and exploding emotions that were all assaulting my body and my senses at the same time.

Finally…_finally_, I was exactly what someone needed, and not just anyone, but Rachel. Rachel Freaking Berry. All I had ever been was a nightmare when it came to Rachel, the very last thing she had ever needed or wanted in her life, but now? Now I was the complete opposite. Now I was exactly what she needed, and I couldn't help but thank every god I could think of in that moment, because yeah…I really fucking needed her, too.


	11. Chapter 11: To Be Clean Again

**Chapter Eleven: To Be Clean Again**

I lived in the hospital for the next two days, and on the second day, it was just the Berry men and I left. Quinn had had to leave to go back to New Haven. She was going to stay, but Rachel knew she had a big exam coming up and made her go. They had a heartfelt, teary goodbye as Quinn clung to Rachel and kept telling her over and over that she would be back as soon as she was able to get away. She then hugged the hell out of me and told me the same thing. I wanted to go with her to the train station, but it seemed like every time that I left the room while Rachel was awake, the girl would panic. She tried to hide it, but it was obvious in the way her breathing would grow rapid and her eyes would dart wildly around the room as if she was terrified someone was going to jump out from behind the monitors and attack her. So, I stayed and Rachel's dads escorted Quinn to the station instead.

Thankfully, Kurt brought me a couple spare changes of clothes. I could've kissed his porcelain face for that, because I felt disgusting, and though I didn't get the shower that I desperately wanted and needed, the clean clothes definitely helped. Rachel's dads spent the nights at their hotel even though they'd wanted to stay at the hospital. Rachel had insisted that they go, though, and quit fussing over her, but when they offered to escort me home, I locked gazes with Rachel and could see the worry in her deep, pleading chocolate eyes, so I thanked them but told them I'd rather stay. So, for two nights in a row I slept on a cot in the corner of Rachel's room, and thankfully the pain meds they gave her helped her sleep well through the night, and I was able to get a few hours each night, too. It didn't really keep me from feeling completely steamrolled, though. My body still ached with exhaustion, and all I wanted was a searing hot shower, my bed, and to not wake up for at least four or five days.

The hospital food actually wasn't half bad, and Rachel definitely made sure that I was eating, all but berating me every time I said I wasn't hungry. She always ordered double of everything when she would call down to the kitchens, and when I told her that I was a big girl and could go down to the cafeteria and get my own food, the glare she gave me actually caused my stomach to clench uncomfortably, so I just accepted that this was Rachel and tried to just be thankful that at least little bits of her old self were slipping through, even though they were the more annoyingly overbearing bits.

Hell, who am I kidding? I was so fucking thankful for every little annoying thing that came out of her mouth that I almost wished I could put her on repeat and let the familiarity of it all spill into me over and over again. Every second I spent with her in that hospital room, whether we spent those seconds watching some lame Lifetime movie on the television latched onto the wall or quietly avoiding talking about what had happened, I was thankful.

Several times throughout those two days, Rachel would look at me…and it was like I could just see _everything _in her eyes. She'd never looked at me like that before, like I meant something to her; like I meant everything. It made my heart flutter wildly in my chest and my stomach roll. I did my best to ignore the feelings brewing in my head and heart, though, because it just didn't seem right to be suddenly feeling things for Rachel under such fucked-up circumstances, but the more I tried to deny everything stirring inside me, the more those feelings assaulted me.

And honestly? It wasn't just out of respect for everything that had happened that I tried to force away my feelings. It was also because I didn't fucking understand them. I mean…Rachel had always just been Berry to me—an enemy, an annoyance, a diva, a talent, a friend, a roommate—but never anything more. I'd never even entertained the thought of such things, but hell, there was no denying them now. Fear spiked in my heart every time I caught myself staring at her or thinking about how soft her hair looked or how much I found myself wanting to run my fingers through it. My stomach churned uncomfortably every time I caught my gaze locked onto her lips, full and supple, and I just wanted to….NOPE! Don't go there, Santana.

Seriously, don't.

Yeah, my internal monologue was a fucking mess over those two days, and all I could do was try like hell to ignore it and just be there for Rachel and hope to god that she didn't notice anything weird like me staring at her fucking mouth every chance I got. Maybe it was some kind of weird hero complex, only in reverse. Maybe I was suddenly only having these feelings for her because I saved her life, because we had experienced a fucking tragedy together and were both traumatized by it. Yeah…maybe that's what it was.

Or maybe I just loved her. And thus the endless fucking cycle continues. Ay, Dios mío!

* * *

Surprisingly enough, it felt kind of strange to actually be going home. I mean, I was relieved for sure, but at the same time, it also weirdly made it seem like the last few days hadn't happened at all. All it took was one look at Rachel in her wheelchair as Leroy pushed her onto the elevator of our building, though, to remind me otherwise. She just looked so fragile, so small. It wasn't the Rachel Berry I was used to. She'd always been tiny, but this was different. Even with her size, Rachel had always had such presence, had always been larger than life, and when she sang? God, when that girl sang it was like she consumed the entire world.

I unlocked the door to our loft and slid it open. I knew Kurt was in class, so Rachel and I would have the place to ourselves for a while unless her dads decided to stay, which I assumed they would. However, Rachel quickly took care of that when she all but kicked them out less than five minutes after we'd gotten her inside.

"Please go," she told them. "Go out and have a nice dinner or go relax at the hotel."

"Honey, why won't you let us stay?" Leroy asked her, and I could see tears filling his eyes. I could only imagine how he felt, how both of the Berry men felt, because Rachel had been doing nothing but push them away since their arrival in the city a few days earlier. I felt like I was intruding on a family moment, so I awkwardly and silently slinked away and into the kitchen to make some coffee. Even with the bit of distance between us, though, our entire loft was still like one massive open space so I could hear everything they were saying.

"Because I don't need you here," she snapped at them before I heard her sigh heavily. She was quiet for another second or so before she said, "I'm sorry, Daddy. I didn't mean to snap at you. I just…I need some space, please. I feel like everyone has been breathing down my neck for days, and I would like some time to myself. Please allow me that."

Silence enveloped the loft but for the spewing sound of the coffee machine steadily filling the pot. Finally after several long minutes, when I'd already drained at least a quarter of my cup of coffee, I heard one of Rachel's dads sigh before Hiram's voice drifted in from the living room, saying, "Okay, Rachel. We can do that."

"But—" Leroy began to protest before his husband quickly cut him off with a snap.

"That's enough, Leroy," Hiram said, and his voice was resolute. "We're going." They shared gentle goodbyes with their daughter before they both stepped into the kitchen for a moment, and I turned to meet their gazes. Leroy stepped forward and pulled me into a hug, and when he did I could hear the hitch in his breathing that clearly signified that the man was crying, though he was definitely trying to hold it in. I patted his back and nodded into his shoulder when he whispered, "Please take care of her, Santana."

"I will," I promised him, before he stepped back and Hiram took his place. He kissed my forehead and said they'd be back tomorrow morning to take Rachel to the police station to give her full report of the attack. I nodded my understanding before seeing them to the door and waving goodbye as they headed out and over to the elevators.

When I closed the door and turned back, Rachel was still sitting in her wheelchair in the same spot, just staring at the floor. I don't know why I suddenly felt so awkward and uncomfortable, but fuck, it was like I was afraid to move or even breathe. I didn't know what to say or do, if I should try and hang with her or just leave her alone. After a few minutes of just standing there like an idiot, though, I finally just decided to act on instinct.

I took a step closer to her, but I didn't touch her as I asked, "Do you need anything?"

She didn't say anything, but shook her head in answer, her eyes never leaving the floor. "Alright, well, I can just leave you alone if you want," I said quietly.

I heard her release a shaky sigh before the tiniest whimper escaped her throat and she suddenly lifted her head to look up at me. My breath hitched in my throat as her eyes locked with mine, and I saw that she was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Please don't," she whispered, her voice cracked and broken.

"But I heard you tell your dad that you wanted—"

"I lied," she said, quickly cutting me off as fresh tears spilled from her eyes and a quiet sob escaped her. It was the first time I'd really seen her cry since that first night in the hospital. I'd been wondering how she had kept it together so well when I had been a complete fucking mess and I wasn't even the one who was attacked. It was then that I realized that she had been holding it all in; just like Quinn, Rachel had been trying to be strong for everyone else. God, that just seemed so fucked up to me in that moment. If anyone deserved to lose their shit over the last few days, it was Rachel, and instead, she'd been bottling it all up and letting brew and bubble inside her.

I felt tears filling my own eyes, and I wanted to ask her why she'd lied to her dads, but I didn't. Instead, I just found myself nodding before I dropped to my knees in front of her and slowly slipped my hands into hers, resting them gently in her lap. "What do you need?" I asked her softly.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered to me, and my heart just fucking exploded in my chest, because why the hell was Rachel apologizing to me? The entire world owed her an apology for the shit that had happened to her, and yet here she was apologizing to me for god only knew what.

"Rachel…why are you apologizing?" I asked her, my voice a trembling mess as we stared into each other.

She squeezed my hands tightly before explaining, and every word out of her mouth just made me sick to my stomach. It was all just too much, every syllable like a stab to my heart. I hurt so much for Rachel in that moment, that I felt like I might actually splinter into pieces at any minute. "I can't do anything for myself, Santana," she whispered through her tears, "and you…you are all that I have here. I can't bathe on my own or change my bandages or my clothes, and you have been with me every step of the way. You shouldn't have to take care of me like that. I just…I _don't _want to be a burden on you."

"Rachel, stop," I told her, swallowing thickly as I squeezed her hands in return. "You are not a burden, okay? You and me…we're in this together, you know? And all of that shit—changing bandages and clothes and taking baths—it's nothing, okay?"

She only cried harder at that and shook her head from side to side as she whimpered, "It's not nothing."

"Hey," I said softly, reaching up to gently grab her chin and turn her face so that our eyes locked again, "you would do the same for me, right?"

We stared at each other for a long moment, both of our cheeks wet and our hands clasped tightly, and my heart swelled to bursting as she nodded and sweetly whispered, "You know I would."

"Exactly," I told her with a soft smile. "Besides, I'll finally get to see everything you've been hiding under all those animal sweaters, tube socks, and hit-me-baby-one-more-time skirts, yeah?"

A soft, quiet laugh escaped her and I sighed in relief before letting myself laugh with her. I slowly stood up again before leaning forward to wrap my arms carefully around her. We held each other for a long time before I cracked up laughing again as she spoke into my shoulder. "Well, if you're _that_ eager, then do you think we could take care of that bath now, because I feel disgusting?"

"Oh god, I know!" I exclaimed as I pulled back and moved around to the back of her chair to push her toward her bedroom. "I've been dying for a shower!"

She laughed out loud and said, "Yeah, and you stink."

I just rolled my eyes and ruffled the hair on the top of her head though I couldn't stop the megawatt smile that instantly spread across my face. "Shut it, Berry."

* * *

Oh fuck, what did I get myself into?

My brain melted into a puddle of mush and my heart started hammering like a damn stampede was pounding through my chest as soon as Rachel reminded me that she could only have sponge baths until after her stitches were out, and her cast had to be kept out of the water as well. All those feelings that I'd been violently pushing as far beneath the surface as I could get them suddenly surged rapidly to the forefront of my mind, and all I could think was that not only was I about to see Rachel Berry naked for the first time ever, I was also going to have my hands all over her body.

Christ, Santana! Stop perving out on the girl! I mentally berated myself as I told myself over and over that it still was most definitely not the right time to be thinking or feeling such things. Just grit your teeth and get through it and try not to stare. The girl was sexually assaulted for fuck's sake. The last thing she needed was one of her friends creeping on her during a sponge bath. Fuck, what was wrong with me?

I swallowed thickly as I practically picked her up out her wheelchair and gently sat her down on the edge of her bed. I glanced at her face, our eyes instantly locking and I waited for her to give me some sort of sign that she was ready, permission for me to continue. I wasn't about to just strip her naked or touch her without her giving me the go-ahead. The last thing Rachel needed was someone making choices for her. In fact, I was pretty sure she could go the rest of her life without that after what she'd been through.

Her face was cherry red as she gave me a shy smile and nodded for me to go ahead, so I slowly ran my hands over her shoulders before settling my fingers on the top button of her shirt. The doctor had suggested she only wear button-ups for a while so that she wouldn't have to raise her arms and risk ripping the stitches in her shoulder, not to mention avoiding the pain such a movement would cause to her ribs and abdomen. We locked eyes as my fingers slipped from button to button, the flesh of her chest slowly becoming more and more visible with each freed button. I knew she didn't have a bra on, because it would have been too difficult to mess with, so she'd just gone without.

A strange sort of tension settled in the air around us as we stared into each other and I carefully freed the last button before slowly pulling the sleeves of her shirt down her arms and finally away from her body, dropping it onto the floor. It wasn't a sexual tension or anything of that nature. It was different. It was…almost intimate, like we were trusting each other in a way that we'd never allowed ourselves to trust before. It was like the world just narrowed around us and suddenly it was only us…just me and Rachel and nothing and no one else. It was the most intense thing I'd ever felt in my life, and on the inside, I couldn't help but pray that she felt it too, in some capacity at least. Because god…I really didn't want this to just be another fucking trick of my mind. I wanted it to be real.

Once I had her shirt off her body, I gently laid her down and pulled her legs up onto the mattress so that she was settled comfortably on her bed. I glanced briefly down, my eyes quickly absorbing the sight of Rachel's naked chest, though I did my best to avert my gaze as fast as possible because I didn't want to make her uncomfortable, but that one quick peek that I'd allowed myself? Yeah…it was enough for me to know that Rachel's body was incredible—small, pert breasts and perfectly defined abs beneath smooth, tan skin. I didn't even pay any mind to the bandages or the bruises, because they didn't matter to me. She was beautiful. When my hands graced her torso, her skin felt hot and soft beneath my fingertips and it didn't feel awkward at all anymore. Instead it felt like…

It felt like home.

I internally rolled my eyes and thought, _Jesus Santana, don't be such a fucking sap! _Then again, it was true. How the hell could I argue with something that just felt so right?

"Are you okay?" I asked softly, locking gazes with Rachel again.

She smiled shyly at me again before whispering, "I'm okay, Santana. Go ahead."

I gulped a bit as I nodded and moved my hands to the waistband of the baggy sweatpants that Kurt had brought to the hospital for her. I tucked my fingers beneath the elastic and also beneath the top of her panties before carefully pulling them both down in one slow, gentle motion. I felt the unshaven hairs on her legs prickle beneath my fingertips and knew my own legs were probably in the same condition given that neither of us had had an opportunity to shave while at the hospital. I didn't mind it so much, though. Honestly, I'd never understood why people freaked over little, insignificant things like that. I mean, don't get me wrong. I preferred my legs and any woman's legs, really, to be cleanly shaven and smooth; if they weren't, though, or if they couldn't be for some reason like now, it wasn't like it was the end of the world. It didn't make Rachel any less attractive to me.

I maneuvered Rachel's pant leg over the cast on her foot and finally freed her body entirely of clothing. I swallowed thickly as I took quick, subtle glances because I couldn't fucking help myself. I wasn't perving on the girl. I thought I was going to before all this began, but it just wasn't like that. It felt so innocent, precious even. It was simple curiosity, getting to know the body that I would be taking care of for the next few months. But god…she was breathtaking, every inch of her, all the way up to her crimson cheeks, flushed with embarrassment, her shy smile, and her nervous, vulnerable eyes.

I moved up to sit next to her, pressed into her side as I reached over for the large bowl of warm, soapy water I'd brought from the bathroom. I dipped my hand into the bowl and grabbed the sponge soaking there before ringing it out and gently placing it to Rachel's chest to begin washing her. Goosebumps rippled across her flesh as I moved the sponge carefully up and down her arms and over her neck, chest, and stomach, making sure to avoid her bandages. I could feel her eyes on me the entire time I washed her, burning into me in a way that made tingles shoot down my spine and my heart flutter like a hoard of butterflies were trapped in my chest.

I sucked in a heavy breath as I moved lower, but just as I was about to begin washing her below the waist, I felt her hand wrap around my wrist, and I looked up to meet her tear-filled gaze. I instantly froze in place, terrified that I had hurt her. "I'm sorry," I quickly said. "Did I…does it hurt?"

She smiled sadly at me as a few tears spilled from the corners of her eyes and slid across her temples and into her hair. She shook her head softly before whimpering, "Santana…"

I moved back up on the bed to be closer to her face, concerned as she continued to stare into me and cry. I took her hand in mine and just sat there with her, waiting for her to say something. It was several minutes before she did, but when she finally did, I just wanted to die. "I feel so ugly," she whispered, her soft voice a strangled mess. "I…I feel like he ruined me."

Anger surged through me before fading into an epic heartache that coursed through my veins and spilled from my eyes. It was the first time I'd heard Rachel even mention her attacker, and it just made me feel sick all over, my stomach knotting and churning and my chest constricting as I forced myself not to fall apart at her words. I couldn't stand that that pathetic excuse for a human being had made Rachel feel ugly…ruined. It tore at me like jagged glass.

I lifted a hand and cupped it gently around her cheek, making sure that I kept eye contact with her as I felt my heart rocket up my throat and onto my tongue before I offered it to Rachel in the form of words. "You are not ruined," I told her and I heard the tremble in my voice, tears stinging in my eyes and clawing at my throat. "_You are perfect. _Don't you dare think anything less of yourself."

I leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead before moving down and pressing another to her cheek and yet another to her neck just below her ear and whispering, "You're beautiful, Rachel." A sob escaped her as she turned her face into my neck and nuzzled into me. I just pressed another kiss to her neck and said, "You're so fucking beautiful."

* * *

After I finished up with Rachel's sponge bath and got her into some pajamas, it wasn't long before she drifted off to sleep, and I took the opportunity to take a shower. I turned the knob until the water was piping hot and just let it rain over me. I couldn't help the moans that escaped me as I scrubbed at my skin and scalp and hair before letting the water soak into me and make me feel truly clean again.

Rachel's quiet, heart-wrenching confession of how her attacker had made her feel kept ripping through my head over and over again and I couldn't help the tears that came. They dripped down my cheeks, mingling with the hot water spraying over me, and I just cried. I cried until the water ran cold, and when I couldn't stand it any longer, I shut off the shower, wrapped a towel around my body, and quietly made my way to my section of the loft.

I threw on some sweats and a t-shirt before dropping onto my bed and within seconds, I drifted off, thoughts of Rachel still dancing in my head.


	12. Chapter 12: The Heart Yearns

**A/N: Hello again everyone. I just wanted to give you a heads-up that Rachel's interview with the detective will take place in Chapter 13, as I know some of you were expecting it to happen in this chapter. Also, I know some of you expressed that you wanted to read the interview from Rachel's POV, but I am sticking to Santana's throughout. That was my original plan, and it is what I most wanted and continue to want to focus on, but no worries. You will still get the full account of what Rachel remembers and will be given a very good idea of what is going on in her head. **

**I hope you enjoy this chapter, and thank you to all who continue to favorite and follow this story and especially to all of you who review. I truly appreciate it. XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Twelve: The Heart Yearns**

I jolted awake as violent, bloodcurdling screams ripped through the loft, my heart already racing in my chest. Terror screamed in every fucking cell of my body as I leapt up from my bed and sprinted in the direction of Rachel's bedroom. I nearly slammed into Kurt as he got there at the same time as me, but I just steadied myself and pushed past him in order to get to Rachel. It was all I cared about in the moment, just getting to Rachel.

As soon as I saw her, the fear ripping through my veins lessened as I saw her thrashing in her bed, punching into the air and screaming for her life. That fear was replaced by sorrow as I realized that she wasn't in danger, but she _was_ hurt, on the inside anyway. She was in constant pain and constant fear, even in her dreams. I could only imagine what she was dreaming about, the horrid images that were most likely haunting her mind as she struggled against her sheets and blankets. I quickly closed the distance to her bed, crawling in and wrapping myself around her.

She thrashed and pushed at me, but I only held her tighter, trying to still her body while talking in her ear, doing my best to soothe her, to remind her that she wasn't in danger. I just wanted her to wake the hell up and realize that she was okay, that I had her, and that I wasn't going to let go.

"Wake up, Rachel," I said over and over again in her ear. "Wake up. You're okay." No matter how many times I said it, though, she wouldn't wake. She was trapped in the horror of her dream which, if I had to guess, was more of a memory in that moment, and it only made my heart break more for her. I was afraid that if I couldn't wake her up or calm her down, she would rip her stitches or hurt herself, and I didn't want that to happen. I had to wake her up.

"Please!" She screamed. "Please let me go!" I glanced over to the doorway where the moonlight from the windows had casted a soft glow and I could see Kurt standing there. His eyes were wide, a hand lifted to cover his mouth, and tears streaked down his cheeks. He seemed paralyzed in that moment, unable to do anything but stare, and so I knew that he would be of no help to me.

"Fuck!" I yelled as one of Rachel's arms broke free of my hold and she landed a hard right hook to my jaw. "Son of a bitch, that hurt!" I could practically feel the bruise already growing on the side of my face and tasted blood on the inside of my cheek, but I didn't let go of Rachel. I just kept holding her, trying desperately to wake her up, but finally, I just opened my mouth and yelled as loud as I could right into her ear.

"RACHEL!" I screamed, my lips mere inches from her face. "WAKE UP!"

Suddenly, Rachel jolted awake, her deep brown eyes wide and full of terror and her body still thrashing as she floated between the dream still haunting her mind and the reality that she was slowly returning to. I continued to talk into her ear in the most soothing voice I could manage, but I made sure to lift up a bit so that she could clearly see my face in the moonlight, and after a few minutes of staring into me while I reminded her that it was only me and that she was safe, she finally began to calm down. Her fists stopped thrashing and her body relaxed into me and within seconds, she dissolved into tears, turning and sobbing into my chest.

"I've got you," I whispered to her, doing my best to rock her back and forth without moving her too much considering I didn't know how much damage she may have caused to her incisions and wounds, and I didn't want to cause any more. "It was just a nightmare, Rachel. You're safe. I promise you're safe."

I turned a bit, my chin resting atop Rachel's head as she continued to sob into my chest, and looked to see that Kurt still standing motionless in the doorway. "Kurt," I said softly and I had to repeat his names several times before he finally snapped out of his daze and looked at me. When he did, I quietly asked, "Could you grab a bottle of water from the kitchen?" He nodded and after another minute of just staring, he finally turned and headed for the kitchen.

When Kurt returned with the water, I noticed that his hand was shaking as he reached out to hand it to me. "Hey," I said softly until he locked eyes with me and I could see the fear and heartbreak in his eyes which only made my own intensify. I didn't know when I became the person to comfort everyone else, but I just felt like it was my responsibility in that moment. I'm not sure why, but it just seemed like that was what I should do, so I whispered, "She's okay." He stared into me for a long moment, his entire body shaking and tears still streaming down his porcelain cheeks. "Kurt, she's okay," I repeated, and finally he nodded before lifting a hand to wipe his cheeks.

"What can I do?" he asked me quietly, but I just shook my head and told him, "I can take it from here. Go back to bed."

"Are you sure?" he asked, and I just nodded and turned back to Rachel as I heard him shuffle from Rachel's room and back to his own.

It took some coaxing, but I finally got Rachel to sit up to the best of her ability and drink some water. She downed nearly the entire bottle before handing it back to me and curling back into my chest. I sat the bottle on the floor and though I hated to make her move any more than necessary, and I really wanted her to get some actual peaceful sleep, I still needed to check her incisions to make sure she hadn't ripped any stitches or anything. So, I pushed her head back a bit and brushed the hair from her face before I said, "Rachel, I need to check to make sure you didn't bust a stitch. Is that okay?"

She nodded without saying anything, so I slipped slowly from her bed and heard her whimper as I moved away from her. I quickly crossed the room to flick on the light before crawling back onto the bed and carefully removing her shirt. There wasn't any visible blood soaking through her bandages so that was definitely a good sign, but I had to be sure, so I carefully pulled away each of the bandages from her abdomen and shoulder so that I could clearly see her incisions and wounds. They looked a little red, but her stitches seemed to all still be intact. I breathed a sigh of relief before jumping back up to grab all the supplies I'd need to redress her wounds. I used the spray and salve that the nurses had given Rachel to put on her incisions before putting on new bandages and helping Rachel back into her shirt.

"Are you in pain?" I asked her and, again, she didn't say anything. She just nodded while keeping her eyes fixated on me, though I wasn't really sure where she was looking. I guess she just needed to visually remind herself that it was only me and that she was truly safe. I moved from the bed again to grab her pain medicine before giving her one massive pill that I figured had to be seriously difficult to swallow and the last bit of water left in the bottle. She took it quickly but still said nothing and I was starting to worry that something was seriously wrong…or maybe she was just too, I don't know, traumatized, maybe, by the dream she'd had. I just wanted her to be okay. I wanted her to talk to me, but I wasn't going to push.

I flicked the light off again and crawled into bed with her, pulling her close to me and wrapping my arms around her body, making sure to watch their placement so as to avoid settling any of my weight on her wounds or on her ribs. She relaxed into me and after a long while of silence but for the sounds of her breathing, I was pretty sure she had fallen asleep again, but just as I was about to close my own eyes and try to get some rest, her tiny voice whispered to me in the dark.

"He was here," she said softly, a crack audible even in her whisper. My heart hammered in my chest irrationally at her words because I knew that her attacker hadn't really been in the loft. It had only been a dream, albeit an extremely vivid dream if Rachel's reaction to it was any indication, but even knowing that didn't stop the fear from creeping into my heart and staying there for the rest of the night. I did my best to soothe her, though.

"No, Rachel," I whispered to her, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek. "He wasn't here." I lifted my hand and pressed the tip of my index finger to her temple, saying, "He was only in here. Just in your head. I promise you're safe."

She whimpered and the sound nearly brought me to tears, but then she dug a hand into my chest and quietly asked, "You'll stay with me?" And at that, I couldn't help the tears falling. They spilled silently over my eyelids and slid down my cheeks and all I could think in that moment was _thank god for the dark. _I didn't want Rachel to see me crying. She needed me to be strong for her, and that's exactly what I intended on being.

"I'll stay with you," I told her, pressing another kiss to her cheek before settling further into the side of her body until we were both comfortably resting together. Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, I heard her whisper to me again, and my heart swelled in my chest, because, well….it was just so _Rachel_.

"Will you sing to me?" she asked me in a shaky whisper. I didn't even bother answering her. I just started singing, because in that moment, there wasn't a damn thing that I would deny that girl. I sang the first song that came to mind, which just so happened to be a song that I knew Rachel would appreciate given her extreme love of musicals. So, as the darkness settled around us with only thin strips of moonlight streaming in through the window and our bodies pressed snugly together, I held tightly to Rachel and let my voice fill her ears and fill the air, until it felt like it had somehow enveloped the world.

_Without you, the ground thaws,_

_The rain falls, the grass grows._

_Without you, the seeds root,_

_The flowers bloom, the children play._

_The stars gleam, the poets dream, the eagles fly._

_Without you._

_The earth turns, the sun burns,_

_But I die without you._

I could feel Rachel's tears as they dripped down the side of her face and onto the skin of my arm that I had settled just beneath her head, and it only made me want to hold her closer, tighter. It only made me want to sing to her as if singing to her was what I was made for. I didn't understand the depth of my feelings in that moment, but I did understand that they were real, and that they weren't going anywhere any time soon.

_Without you, the breeze warms,_

_The girl smiles, the cloud moves._

_Without you, the tides change,_

_The boys run, the oceans crash._

_The crowds roar, the days soar, the babies cry._

_Without you._

_The moon glows, the river flows,_

_But I die without you._

Just as I moved through the end of the second verse, I felt Rachel turn gently in my arms so that her face was now only inches from mine and I could feel her soft breaths on my lips. I expected to see her eyes closed and her breathing deep signifying that she had fallen back asleep, but instead, her eyes were open. The deep chocolate of her gaze bore into me as I continued to sing, and I honestly have no idea how I managed it, because I could hardly breathe with the way she was looking at me.

_The world revives, colors renew,_

_But I know blue, only blue, lonely blue._

_Within me, blue._

_Without you._

_Without you, the hand gropes,_

_The ear hears, the pulse beats._

_Without you, the eyes gaze,_

_The legs walk, the lungs breathe._

_The mind churns, the heart yearns, the tears dry._

_Without you._

_Life goes on, but I'm gone,_

'_cause I die without you, without you, without you…_

As I finished the song, my eyes still locked onto Rachel's, a few tears slipped down the bridge of my nose and dripped onto our shared pillow in the small amount of space between our faces. Rachel's fingers were warm to the touch as she reached up a hand a gently wiped the trail of wetness from my nose, and then, before I could even realize what was happening, her soft, full lips just barely brushed against mine. It was a kiss so similar to the one she'd given me at the hospital, a kiss so brief and so soft that I wasn't entirely sure that it had happened at all, that I hadn't actually just dreamed it, but I definitely felt it. I felt it in every part of me as if it somehow sank right into my soul.

No one had ever kissed me like that, not even Brittany, and it was then that I realized, that I somehow just knew, that Rachel Barbra Berry completely owned my heart.

"Thank you," she whispered even more softly than she had kissed me, so that it barely left her tongue before dying sweetly on the air.

I swallowed thickly as my heart thudded in my chest. "Goodnight Rachel."

* * *

**A/N 2: The song incorporated was "Without You" from the Broadway Musical _Rent_. I own nothing.**


	13. Chapter 13: Bruises and Memories

**A/N: Hello everyone! Just wanted to give a quick reminder/Trigger Warning for graphic imagery in this chapter, including physical violence, blood, and rape.**

**This is a rather long chapter. I hope you enjoy. XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Thirteen: Bruises and Memories**

I woke up again just a little before dawn, my own nightmares haunting me far too much for me to sleep peacefully. I couldn't shake the image of Rachel's blood flooding over my hands and soaking through my clothes even though she was lying right there next to me when I opened my eyes. Her body was pressed close to mine and her hair tickled at my nose as the top of her head rested at an even level with my chin.

I lay there like that for a long time, just running the pads of my fingertips up and down Rachel's arm and staring out of the windows in her bedroom. I tried to keep my mind clear and just zone out on the orange rays peeking past buildings as the sun made its debut in the city that never sleeps, and it wasn't long before I felt Rachel stirring in my arms. She grunted a bit as she slowly drifted into consciousness and I knew that her pain medication had worn off. She hissed a bit when she moved, which only proved what I already knew, but just as I was about to carefully get up to grab her pain pills, I felt her small hand latch onto my arm and pull me closer.

"Please don't," she whispered softly, her eyes still closed and her breathing growing shallow as a result of her pain. "Please just stay with me a bit longer."

"You're in pain," I told her as I began to run my fingers up and down her arm again, trying to soothe her as much as I could. "You need to take a pill."

"I know," she said. "I just…not yet, okay? Just stay me with me." I could've died with those words. I felt them in every part of my body, tingles shooting in every direction. Rachel looked so beautiful laying there beside me, her hair and her face aglow in the early morning light. It somehow made my heart beat faster and slower at the same time. So, I swallowed down the lump in my throat and inched a bit closer to her, reveling in the warmth of her small body and in the fact that she not only needed me there with her, but that she _wanted _me there as well.

"Okay," I whispered, because what the hell else was I going to do? If I was being honest, I didn't want to be away from her so when she was blatantly asking me to stay, I sure as hell wasn't going to deny her that.

Rachel seemed content to lay in my arms, her eyes still closed and her body completely relaxed despite the fact that I knew she was in pain, but it wasn't long before we both heard Kurt tinkering around in the kitchen. It was then that Rachel finally opened her eyes and turned to me, but as soon as her gaze settled on me, her face contorted in absolute horror. I was so shocked by that reaction that I immediately jerked away from her, and I'm not exactly sure why but without knowing the reasoning for that fucking horrible expression on her face, I just felt…rejected. It was stupid and irrational considering she had only just asked me to stay with her, but I couldn't help it. It was like it was ingrained me to think that way, to jump to conclusions, especially where any sort of rejection was involved.

"Oh my god, Santana!" Rachel shrieked, her hand reaching for me as I scooted away from her.

"What?" I snapped at her. "What the fuck, Rachel? You're freaking me out!"

She quickly shook her head as if only just realizing that her face in that moment was contorted into an expression that practically screamed that the sight of me was her worst nightmare. "I—I'm sorry, Santana," she said quickly. "It's just…well, your face. What happened to you?"

_What?! _I thought. What the hell was she talking about? My face was perfect like it always was. Following her gaze with my hand, I pressed my fingers to the side of my face, and pain instantly shot through my jaw and cheek. "Ow! Fuck me!" I swore loudly before shooting up out of the bed and over to the large mirror on Rachel's wall.

_Well, shit, _I thought as I took in my appearance. One entire side of my face from halfway down my cheek to my chin was tinted a deep purple with little hints of red mixed in. Well, that's definitely not cute. Everything came flooding back to me in that moment, and I couldn't help but laugh a bit as I realized that the tiny girl in the bed behind me was the reason my face looked like a damn eggplant. Who would have ever thought that Rachel Berry would jock me in the face? It was only knowing that she didn't mean to and that I didn't want to upset her that kept me from actually being upset about it myself. Honestly, it was kind of amusing.

"I'm sorry, have I missed something?" Rachel asked from behind me. "Is there something humorous about your face appearing as someone's punching bag?"

"A little bit, yeah," I told her, turning back to face her and chuckling a bit as that same look of horror was still painted across her features. "Considering that it was _you _who punched me."

"What?!" She shrieked, her voice rising in pitch as she tried to sit up several times, each time hissing in pain, before she finally just gave up and laid back down again. "I did no such thing, Santana Lopez!"

"Actually you did." This time it was Kurt who answered as he appeared in the doorway balancing three mugs of coffee in his hands. Rachel's mouth dropped open dramatically as she spluttered to find something to say. Kurt and I just laughed at her reaction as he made his way carefully across the room, making sure not to spill any of the searing hot liquid on himself as he went. He handed one mug to me before stepping over to the bed and passing the other to Rachel, and then he settled himself on the foot of her bed. She took it absentmindedly, her gaze darting back and forth between us as her jaw continued to hang open as if some hinges had come loose somewhere and her face was just going to fall apart at any minute.

"Told ya, dwarf," I said, giving her an affectionate smile; well, more like a half-smile since it fucking hurt to move one side of my face. It felt good to tease Rachel again, almost like normal, except, you know, for the bandages on her body and the cast on her foot and the fucking massive bruise on my jaw. Other than those things though, yeah…it was like old times, and that felt pretty fucking wonderful.

After a few minutes, Rachel seemed to snap back to life as she barked in true Rachel Berry fashion, "I demand an explanation right now."

Both Kurt and I laughed again at that, but then I caved, sighing as I moved over to settle myself in Rachel's bed again. "You were having a nightmare last night, remember?"

"Yes, I remember," she answered, and I didn't miss the way her voice grew quiet as she said those words, a flash of fear flickering across her face before she schooled her expression again and motioned for me to continue.

"Well, you were thrashing around and I was trying to hold you in place so that you wouldn't hurt yourself and then I lost my grip on one of your arms…"

"And then it just went flying," Kurt finished for me.

"Yeah," I said, nodding, "flying right into my face."

That look of horror was back as one of Rachel's hands shot up to cover her mouth, muting the sound of her gasp. Kurt and I glanced at each other, and then before either of us could stop ourselves, we just burst into a loud round of laughter. It wasn't even really that funny to be honest. Everything had just felt so fucking terrible and so damn intense that it was like we had just hit our limit. We just needed to feel good for a bit…so we laughed, and we laughed loud, because laughing? It was _so much freaking better _than crying.

When I realized that Rachel hadn't joined in, though, even after several minutes, I turned to look at her and my chest constricted as I took in the tears filling her eyes, her hand still cupped over her mouth. "Hey, hey, come on," I said, scooting closer to her and pulling her hand from her mouth to lace our fingers together. "It's okay, Rachel. You didn't know what you were doing."

"I'm so sorry, Santana," she whispered, her voice cracking, and though I could practically _feel _Kurt's stare as it darted back and forth between me and Rachel, I kept my focus on her as I leaned over and pressed my lips to her forehead. I just didn't give a fuck if he was watching or not or what he might assume based on that one little display of affection. I'd pretty much come to accept my feelings, though, you know, I wasn't about to start shouting them from the rooftops or anything and I certainly wasn't about to tell Rachel considering she already had way too much on her plate to deal with all that crap, too. But I certainly wasn't going to act like I didn't care about her or like I didn't want to make it better in any way I could. Rachel was going to come first, and that was all that mattered. To hell with anyone else's assumptions or questions or stares. That's just the way it was going to be.

"Don't be sorry," I told her softly, pressing another kiss to her cheek this time and running a hand through her hair. "It's good for my rep, anyway. I plan on telling people I was in a wicked bar fight and kicked some serious ass."

Rachel smiled a bit at that, which I thought was the most beautiful fucking thing ever, until she started laughing softly a few seconds later. _Nope, _I thought. _That _was the most beautiful thing ever. She squeezed my hand, obviously feeling a little better, and said, "Oh, so you're not even going to give me the credit for it?"

Kurt and I both cracked up at that before I asked, "Do you _want _the credit for it?"

Kurt then jumped in saying, "It would certainly solidify your diva status."

"Yeah," I agreed, squeezing her hand back, "we can take pictures and once you hit it big time and get your first shitty assistant, you can show the pics and be like, 'This is what happened to the last girl who messed up my coffee order.' That'll scare the shit out of the idiot."

"But my coffee would most likely always be perfect afterwards," Rachel said with that same soft smile. We all just laughed together as I slid my arm under Rachel's back to help her sit up a little better and hugged her close to me. She surprised me then when she leaned into my touch and rested her head on my shoulder.

Again, I didn't give a shit if Kurt was watching, and trust me, he _was _watching, those beady calculating eyes darting back and forth between us again and a small smirk gracing his lips. I just rolled my eyes and turned my head so that I could bury my face in Rachel's hair and quietly whispered, "Better?"

She squeezed my hand tightly and I felt her nod against my shoulder, and that was all I needed.

* * *

My knees bounced rapidly, my nerves like live grenades about to blow at any minute, as I sat in a hard plastic chair next to Rachel's wheelchair. Rachel's dads were sitting on the other side of her, both looking just as unsettled as I was feeling. Rachel's hand was in my lap, her fingers laced through mine and her grip like fucking death, but I didn't blame her, nor did I ask her to ease up. I could only imagine what was going through her mind in that moment. She had to be terrified, nervous, nauseous, and everything in-between.

We'd only been waiting a few minutes, having just gotten to the station, but those few minutes felt like years and the laughter that Rachel and I had shared with Kurt just a few hours earlier now felt like fucking light-years in the past. It didn't take long for the detective to come and greet us, though, which I guess was a good thing if you approached the whole situation with that "the sooner we start, the sooner it's over" kind of mindset, but I was more on the side of "I wish we didn't have to do this shit at all." I was thankful that I had already given my account of everything and wouldn't have to again, but my heart was breaking for Rachel. She was going to have to relive every moment she could remember of the attack. I just wanted to scream, and part of me really wished that I could do it for her, even though I didn't want to talk to anyone about what happened. I still would do it for her if I could.

The detective shook all of our hands, and I was surprised to hear that she actually remembered my name from when we met at the hospital; then again, I'm sure she had it written down in Rachel's file. Her eyes lingered on my jaw again, but she didn't ask about it, which I was grateful for, because explaining that shit to Rachel's dads had been enough for a day. She then said she was ready to take Rachel back for her interview, and when she said that I couldn't go with her, I nearly passed out. My stomach bottomed out like there was a fucking earthquake inside me, and when Rachel squeezed my hand even harder to the point that I was afraid she might break some of my fingers, I knew that she was going through pretty much the same experience as me in that moment. We hadn't really been separated since the attack, and I wasn't entirely sure that Rachel could get through this interview without me, but I guessed she was just going to have to try, because the detective wasn't budging—some shit about protocol. The only person who _was _allowed to go back with her was Hiram because he was also Rachel's lawyer. I just hoped that he'd be able to provide her with enough strength and support to get her through it.

After a few minutes of us just sitting there in complete silence, I literally heard Rachel gulp as she peeled her fingers away from mine, pain coursing through my hand where she'd been gripping it tightly. Hiram pushed her forward in her wheelchair, and Rachel and I shared one last look before they rounded the corner and were out of my sight. My knees bounced even faster once Rachel was out of sight and Leroy must have noticed, because he instantly took Rachel's place, scooting his chair next to mine and wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

How the hell was I going to just sit here for who knows how long with no clue of how Rachel was doing, if she was okay, if she needed me?

I didn't have to wait long, though, because less than five minutes after she and Hiram disappeared around the corner, I heard Rachel's voice yell out, "No!" from somewhere down the hall.

As soon as I heard her, I didn't even think. I just acted, instantly shooting out of my chair and sprinting down the hall where I could see Rachel holding onto a wall to keep from being pushed any further forward. "No, I'm sorry. I can't. I just can't. I need…I need S-Santana. I need Santana," she said in a panic and I could hear the tears already forming in her throat, making her words and voice thick.

"I'm here," I said as I rushed up to her, pushing past Hiram and the detective and dropping to a squat in front of her. Her cheeks were wet and her eyes were wide and panicked with just the mere thought of having to relive everything. "I'm here," I repeated, slipping my hands into hers. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry," the detective interjected, "but you can't be in the room while she gives her interview."

"Well then what the hell do you suggest because she obviously doesn't want to do it without me?" I snapped at the lady, because really? Could she not fucking see how scared Rachel was?

"Is there not some sort of compromise we can make?" Hiram asked.

The detective sighed heavily, which only irritated me more, but then she nodded and said, "The best I can do is to allow Santana to observe the interview from behind the glass. You won't be able to see her, Rachel, but she will be able to see and hear you. Would that work?"

Fresh tears slipped down Rachel's cheeks as her gaze locked with mine and I heard a small whimper just barely escape her throat, which told me that it definitely would not work. I knew, though, that that was the best we were going to get, so it was just going to have to be enough. "Hey," I said to her softly, "we can do that, okay? You won't be able to see me, but I'll be watching and listening and if you get scared or if you feel like you can't keep going, just look at the glass. I'll tap it to remind you that I'm there, okay? I promise I'll be there with you every step of the way."

Her eyes bore into me as she seemed to consider my words for a long time before she finally just squeezed my hands and nodded. I smiled softly at her and squeezed her hands in return. I then nodded to Hiram who, in turn, nodded to the detective, and we all walked down the hallway together, making our way to the dreaded interview room.

* * *

I stood silently behind the two-way glass watching Rachel nervously fidget in her wheelchair on the other side. The detective was gentle with her and kind, which I appreciated, but it did nothing to settle the constant churning in my gut. Not even I knew what had actually happened to Rachel in the alley that night, and I wasn't entirely sure that she remembered much of it, but the thought of hearing it now just felt…I don't even know how it felt. There weren't any words for the feeling. All I knew was that I didn't like it.

The detective went through the routine shit first—state your name for the record, your age, where you were at the time of the attack, blah, blah, blah—and then she got right to the meat of it, and that's when my stomach completely flipped and roared until I had to swallow several times just to push down the bile that kept rising in my throat. Rachel's tears were endless as I watched her take in the detective's words and swallow down several heavy breaths. God, I just wanted to fucking hold her through it, and it was killing me that I couldn't.

"Okay, Rachel," the detective said softly, "I know that this is going to be difficult for you, but I need you to try and be as detailed as possible. If there are things that you can't remember, that is fine. Just tell me everything you remember, starting from just before the attack and on."

I watched as Rachel's mouth opened and closed several times, her eyes clenching shut before opening again, and I just knew she wasn't going to be able to get through it. But just then, her eyes shot to the glass as if she could see me behind it, and my reaction was instantaneous. I tapped three times on the glass, and it was like fucking magic—beautiful in that moment, because as soon as Rachel heard the tapping, her body visibly relaxed and my heart swelled in my chest.

It was like every bit of strength I was channeling her way just washed over her and her eyes took on a steely stare as she set her shoulders and began to talk. Her voice trembled, but she was strong, and I was just so fucking proud of her in that moment that I could feel it in every part of me.

"I was going to meet Santana for dinner and I was running a bit late so I was hurrying," she said nervously. "I was only a couple of blocks from the restaurant, and I had my phone out because I was texting Santana to let her know I was nearly there, when I heard him as-ask me-"

She stumbled a bit in her words and her eyes shot up to the glass again. I tapped three times and watched as she breathed a heavy sigh of relief before pushing forward. "I heard him ask me if I could spare some ch-change. I didn't see him at first, but when he called out to me, I saw him in the alley. He was leaning against the wall just inside the alley and he was holding out a cup. I th-thought he was h-homeless. I thought he n-needed help."

She was openly stuttering now, which was something Rachel Berry never did, and I didn't even wait for her to look to the glass. I just reached up and tapped it three times, and her eyes instantly shot toward the sound. "You're doing great, Rachel," I heard the detective say and all I could think was that it should have been me in there encouraging her. "Just keep going."

My stomach only twisted further, but this time I couldn't stop it. I quickly turned and grabbed the trashcan just off to my left and vomited into it. Oh god, how the fuck was I going to get through this? Rachel hadn't even gotten to the bad stuff yet, and I already felt like I was going to fall apart. I straightened up as quickly as possible to lock my gaze on her again, swiping the back of my hand across my mouth, because there wasn't time for me to be weak. Rachel needed me to be strong for her, and that's what I was going to be, even if I had to fucking throw up a hundred times to get through it with her. Another detective who was watching the interview with me patted my shoulder, but it didn't help. Nothing was going to help.

"He was kind of in the shadows, so I couldn't really see his face, but his clothes were dirty, and I-I felt bad for him, so I took a few bills from my purse to put in his cup. I had to get a bit close to him, just inside the alley, to give him the money, but when I pushed the bills into the cup, he…he g-grabbed me," Rachel told her, tears still streaming down her cheeks and I could see that Hiram's cheeks were wet, too. I felt a small splash on my arm, and that's when I realized that I was crying as well. Fuck…

"I didn't really have time to react. I think I was in sh-shock. He jerked me forward and shoved something in my mouth, a-a r-rag or something. I…I think I dropped my phone. I don't remember. He dragged me into the alley, and I tried…I tried to sc-scream around the rag, but he told me not to."

"He spoke to you?" the detective asked, jumping in as she jotted something on a notepad in front of her. "Can you remember specifically what he said to you?"

A soft sob wrenched up from Rachel's throat, and an identical one slipped from mine as new tears spilled down my cheeks and I ached for her. I hated myself in that moment, because all I could think was why the fuck couldn't I have gotten to her sooner? Why did I wait around at that damn restaurant for _twenty fucking minutes?! _I could have…

And then I was retching into the trashcan again while that other detective patted my back. When I was done he handed me a handkerchief which I wiped my mouth with before wadding it up in my fist and clenching it tightly. I watched Rachel like a hawk, my heart beating so fiercely in my chest that I was afraid I might just collapse or black out at any minute. Her eyes shot up to the glass again and I practically banged on it this time, three hits, which seemed to comfort her still despite the considerable amount of extra force I'd used.

She nodded to the detective as she wiped at her eyes. The detective slid some tissues to her across the table, which she took with a quiet "thank you." She blew her nose and cleaned her face even though her tears were still coming. "Yes, he said, 'If you try to scream again, I'll kill you. If you fight me, I'll kill you. If you try to run, I'll kill you. Got it?'"

It was amazing that Rachel remembered everything that bastard had said to her verbatim, but then again, it was Rachel Berry. She'd been memorizing song lyrics and play scripts since she was a toddler, and this…this would be even more embedded in her mind. It probably would be for the rest of her life. It definitely would be for the rest of mine.

"So, you stopped fighting?" the detective asked softly, still scribbling on her notepad, but making sure to keep eye contact with Rachel in an effort to try and make her feel more comfortable, I guess. Her back was to me, but I could read her body language and the way Rachel's own gaze would lock on her.

"Yes," Rachel whispered quietly as if she was ashamed of it, even though she shouldn't be. She whimpered again, and I instantly tapped the glass, which again, seemed to help. "I—I didn't want to t-test him."

"That's okay, Rachel," the detective told her, and I watched as Hiram, cheeks thoroughly soaked, placed an arm around Rachel's shoulders to try and comfort her. Again, I could only think that it should be my arm around her. It should be my words in her ears.

"H-he threw my purse on the ground and dragged me back behind a dumpster. I could sm-smell the garbage, but I couldn't r-really see very well. It was getting dark and there were sh-shadows. He shoved me against a w-wall…"

Rachel was practically hyperventilating at this point, and so was I. My knees were shaking and my palms were drenched. I could see the fear on every inch of Rachel's face, and I just wanted to make it go away. Her chest heaved rapidly and I was afraid she was going to pass out, so I quickly tapped on the glass, which seemed to help a bit, but not as much as she needed. Hiram squeezed her shoulders and told her to try to calm down and breathe. It took several minutes, but she finally calmed down a bit, and though I was relieved, I was already bracing myself for the next part of her story.

"He shoved me against a wall," she repeated, her voice a bit steadier now, though her face was still riddled with fear, "and when he did, he let go of me for a minute. I couldn't see him, but I heard him unbuckle his belt, and I just…I panicked."

My stomach fucking bottomed out again, because I knew exactly what was coming just from those few words and from what I'd seen and heard at the hospital not long after. I dry-heaved a bit, my head hanging over the trashcan, but nothing came out, and I quickly forced myself to pull it together and pay attention in case Rachel needed me.

"All I could think was that he was going to…" A guttural sob wrenched up from her throat and tore through her lips as she gasped out, "…he was g-going to r-rape me, and I was just sc-scared. I was s-so scared. I p-panicked. I tried to run, and he p-punched me in the stomach. H-he just k-kept punching me until m-my knees gave out."

Rachel took a great gasping breath as tears ripped hard and fast from her eyes. Anger surged through every part of my body and I just wanted to find that mother fucker and tear him limb from limb. I wanted to make him suffer, to watch him fucking _suffer_ for what he'd done to her. Rachel's eyes shot to the glass again and I couldn't help but cry out loud as I saw the pain in those deep, chocolate pools. I beat the glass again, wishing I could just fly right through it and be with her.

Rachel stared into the glass for what seemed like hours, and she didn't know it, but her eyes were locked right on mine. I just kept tapping the glass, never stopping until she was able to breathe again. I watched her take it in raggedly, but it helped. Her shoulders drooped from where they had been tensed and drawn together and I knew that it had to have hurt, because the stab wound to her shoulder had been deep. God, this was so fucked up. Like it wasn't enough for her to have to live it already; she had to basically live it all over again. It was necessary, yeah, to catch the fucking bastard…but still…it just sucked.

I wish I had a more accurate word than sucked, but there wasn't one. No word could even come close to how horrible this was.

"The last time he punched me," Rachel continued after she was able to calm herself down enough to talk, and her voice was surprisingly steady, "I guess my breath loosened the rag and I screamed because it hurt. Every part of me hurt."

"And that angered him?" the detective asked, passing more tissues across the table.

Rachel nodded, and I wasn't prepared for the next words that came out of her mouth, because when they did, I was instantly retching into the trashcan again. "He shoved the rag back in my mouth until I choked, and that…that was when he st-stabbed me the first time."

"I didn't even…I didn't know h-he had a kn-knife. It burned…when it w-went in my stomach. It b-burned like fire, and I r-remember thinking then that I wasn't g-going to make it out of there a-alive."

The detective beside me had an arm around me now, and I had to lean into him just to keep from collapsing, because my legs just weren't holding me anymore. I sobbed openly, because this was just too fucking much. There was a hopelessness in Rachel's voice, in her eyes, that ate right through my flesh and tore at my soul. She sounded so small, so afraid, and it hit me like a thousand needles all over my body. I hadn't felt that sick since the night in question, since I'd found her lying there in the aftermath of the attack, naked and bleeding to death.

"I m-must have passed out after that, b-because the next thing I remember was waking up with him on…on t-top of me. I remember thinking it was c-cold. S-so cold. And that was when I realized that I was n-naked. He'd t-torn my clothes and my st-stomach and my shoulder were on fire. I didn't know h-how many t-times he'd stabbed me at that p-point. I j-just felt wet and c-cold. I c-could feel my blood, and then he…he...oh god."

As soon as those words left her lips, she bent as far as possible to the side and vomited onto the floor. I tried to push my way to the door that led into the interview room, but the detective with me held me firmly in place. He rubbed my back and repeated over and over that everything would be okay, that Rachel would be okay, but he didn't fucking know anything! He didn't know how much she needed me, how much I needed her. Nobody knew; nobody but Rachel and me.

When she finally finished emptying her stomach, the detective handed her some tissue and said, "Perhaps we should take a break."

"NO!" Rachel practically shouted, her fist slamming into the table and her eyes clenching tightly shut as tears pushed through her lashes. My heart was doing all it could to try and rip through my fucking chest at that point, just trying to get to her. I tapped incessantly on the glass, and she looked up, our eyes locking through the glass even though she didn't know it, but somehow, I felt like she could feel it. "I can do this," she said, her teeth gritted together and her chest heaving.

"Okay," the detective said, nodding. "Okay, Rachel. Just take your time, then. Whenever you're ready."

Hiram hadn't said a single word the entire time, and I couldn't really blame him. He looked like he might throw up, too, at any minute. I could only imagine what it must be like for him to be hearing all of this, too. This was his daughter; his little girl.

"He _pushed _into me," Rachel growled out, still gritting her teeth as if she was forcing the words out, and I knew that she was. It was the only way she could get through it at that point. "I could feel his breath on me, hear him grunting and p-panting. He smelled like al-alcohol and cigarettes. I j-just kept thinking that I was never going to s-see my fr-friends again or my dads. It f-felt like I was dying. I m-must have passed out again, b-because one minute he w-was _inside _me," she growled out again, and my stomach rolled at the word _inside_, "and then I w-was in San-Santana's arms."

I cried out loud as my name slipped across her lips in a stutter, and I just wanted to wrap around her and never let go. I tapped the glass to remind her that I was still there with her, and she took a heavy breath before finishing by saying, "She was t-talking to me, but I couldn't un-understand her, and then I w-was in the hospital."

Rachel's entire body went limp when she finished those lost few words, and the sigh that left her sounded like her fucking soul leaving her body. I completely tuned the detective out after that, my eyes fixed so fiercely on Rachel that the rest of the room just seemed to blur and disappear around me. I saw her lips moving as she answered a few more questions for the detective, but then she was shaking hands with the woman, and the next thing I knew, I was blasting through the door to that interview room and all but launching myself at Rachel's crying form.

I dropped into a crouch beside her wheelchair and pulled her into my arms the best I could without hurting her or aggravating her wounds. She cried openly into my shoulder and I cried openly into hers. We just held each other like that for a long time, even after the detective left the room with Hiram to discuss further details of the case.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel," I sobbed out. "I should have been there sooner. I should have gotten there sooner."

My heart was fucking exploding in my chest as I poured it out to her in words and apologies. I felt her shake her head against my neck, though, and she quickly pulled back from the embrace. She cupped her hands around my cheeks, looked me directly in the eyes, and said, "You have nothing to be sorry for, Santana. You saved my life."

I only lost it harder when she said those words and we wrapped around each other again as much as we could with her in that chair. I didn't even realize what I was doing as I planted kisses all along her neck, her jaw, her cheek, and in her hair. I felt her hands slip up to cup around my face again, a slight bit of pain biting in my bruised jaw as she pressed a little too hard, but I didn't fucking care, because it was Rachel, and I just wanted to be with her. I wanted her to touch me. Her touch was what kept me grounded.

She then gently ran her fingers along the bruises on my jaw before pressing her lips to that very spot and whispering, "Thank you for being here with me."

I leaned forward and rested my forehead gently against hers and we stayed that way, silent and together, until her father returned to take us home.


	14. Chapter 14: Learning to Forgive

**Chapter Fourteen: Learning to Forgive**

Rachel had fallen asleep in her chair, passed out from exhaustion and dehydration, before we'd ever even gotten off of the elevator in our building. It had been a hard day with the interview, probably the second-hardest day of her life with the actual attack being the first; so I didn't blame her for checking out on us. She deserved the rest. She needed it, and honestly, so did I, but I wanted to talk to Hiram and find out what he'd learned about Rachel's case from the detective and how close they were to actually finding the bastard that did this to her.

I wheeled Rachel into our loft as her dads followed quietly behind me. I quickly made up her bed before settling her into it, kissing her forehead, and quietly slipping back out again. I decided to brew some coffee, because hell, we could all use some, and I was used to practically living off the stuff anyway. When I handed Hiram a cup, I noticed how ghostly pale he looked and how uncomfortable Leroy looked beside him as they sat on the couch. I couldn't help but feel a bit jealous of Leroy as he was the only one of us who didn't really know any of the details of what had happened to Rachel that night. He hadn't had to be present for her horrific account of the attack, and well…it had seriously fucking sucked, so I was simultaneously glad that he hadn't had to sit through it and jealous that he didn't have to have those images and those words spinning through his head right then like Hiram and I did.

I placed a gentle hand on Hiram's shoulder to try and comfort the man, because I didn't really know what else to do. I didn't know what to say or how to even go about any of this. It wasn't like I could fix anything or truly make them feel better about what had happened to their daughter, because to even think as much wouldn't be realistic in the slightest. No, they would be grieving over Rachel's attack for quite some time to come. I knew that much, because I would be, too. He patted my hand affectionately, so I guessed I'd maybe done something right, which made me feel better about my awkwardness in that moment.

I sat across from the Berry men and just stared into my coffee for a long time. We were all silent and still and it felt like the room was fucking alive with the quiet. I hated it. It ate at my flesh; so, when I finally couldn't take it anymore, I just started talking, hoping that they would talk as well, because I couldn't handle the silence. It was just too much for me in that moment. It allowed me too much space to get trapped inside my head, lost in the memories of everything that had happened that night and in the words that I'd only just listened to Rachel say out loud. I couldn't go there. I wasn't ready for that. I didn't know if I'd ever be ready to think about it, to deal with it. I just didn't know.

"Um, Mr. Berry," I started but they both quickly gave me stern looks, so I just smiled and corrected myself. "Sorry, um, Hiram? I know you probably don't want to talk about it, but I really need to know what that detective told you about Rachel's case. I mean, do they have any leads or anything?"

Hiram wiped a shaky hand over his face while his other hand gripped his coffee cup like he was trying to break it. He sighed heavily and said, "Not yet. They ran the DNA they collected through the system, but there were no hits which just means that he doesn't have a prior criminal record. They're optimistic, though, that he will slip up and try to use one of Rachel's bank cards or credit cards soon. We put a freeze on her accounts, and the detectives are tracking her cards, so if he attempts to use an ATM with her card or swipe a credit card, it should instantly alert them. She may have had a healthy amount of cash on her, so it may be a bit before he tries, but they believe it's only a matter of time before he does considering that the attack was messy and he wasn't careful enough not to leave behind DNA and evidence. That's about the best we can hope for right now, though."

"Oh…" I said quietly, just nodding my head while I absorbed the information. I couldn't help the anxiety stirring in my gut, because what if they didn't catch the guy? He could do this to other people. Nausea rolled through me and I had to swallow thickly to choke down the bile rising in my throat. "And if they do catch him, will we have to go to trial?" I asked him, remembering that the detective had asked me in the hospital that night if I'd be willing to testify, which of course I was.

"It isn't likely," Hiram told me, which I was surprised by but ultimately relieved. "DNA evidence is often irrefutable, and considering how messy the attack was, any lawyer that he could obtain would be a fool to suggest he plead anything other than guilty. The only way I could see it going to trial would be if the man pleaded insanity, but as I said, it is unlikely. It is much more likely that he will plead guilty to the attack and be sentenced directly by a judge. At least, that is what I'm hoping for. I don't want Rachel to have to sit through a trial and face her attacker. I don't want you to have to sit through one either for that matter."

I just nodded again as we fell into silence once more, all of us just sipping at our coffee and staring at random points in the loft—the floor, the door, the ceiling…anything. And then the silence was broken. "Santana…" Leroy said softly, and my head instantly shot up. We locked gazes as I asked, "Yes sir?"

"I'm so sorry for what you've had to go through with all of this," he said quietly which really surprised me, because well…Rachel was the one who had been attacked. I didn't feel like I deserved any kind of comfort when Rachel needed it most, but it definitely wasn't unwelcome. It felt good to have someone caring about me and for me. It was nice. "We both are," he continued, placing one of his hands on top of his husband's. "I know that Rachel has a rough road ahead of her, but you do as well. We're both very grateful that Rachel has you to help her through this in a way that we can't. We're grateful that you have each other."

"I love her," I blurted out before I could stop myself, and my hand instantly shot up and smacked into my forehead loudly. "Shit, um, I meant…I mean…shit," I mumbled out quickly and I could feel my cheeks burning bright red as I took in both their looks of shock before they both schooled their features, and Hiram was even smiling softly at me.

"Uh…I didn't meant to just blurt that out, sorry," I said, still feeling like a world-class dumbass and unable to stop the blush that was surely devouring my entire face in that moment. "I just meant that Rachel is important to me. I—I know that I haven't always been there for her, and I was really…t-terrible to her in high school, and I don't have any excuses, but it's not like that with us anymore. She's important to me. I…I…fuck, I love her. I don't know how else to say it. Sorry."

Leroy was smiling now, too, and it made my insides squirm, because why the hell were they looking at me like that? They both were just staring at me like they knew some kind of secret that I didn't have a clue about. "Um, could you guys like say something, please?" I asked them when I couldn't stand it any longer, and they both chuckled softly at that.

"Relax, Santana," Hiram said, still smiling at me. "I know it may not be my business, but I am going to ask anyway. You are a lesbian, correct? I believe that Rachel may have mentioned something about that."

"Uhhh….y-yeah. I mean, yes sir," I answered him, now feeling terribly nervous, though I wasn't entirely sure why. It just kind of felt like I was suddenly under a microscope while the Berry men poked and prodded me, voicing the occasional 'hmm' and 'interesting'.

"And you discovered as much during high school," Hiram said, and it wasn't a question. It was a statement, but I nodded anyway. "And you felt repressed and angry all the time? Like you were just going to explode any minute?"

I swallowed thickly and nodded in agreement. "How did you know?" I asked him softly, tears building in my eyes as I remembered how I used to feel growing up. It was like I was just so full all the time, so much at war inside me that the pressure was just too much at times—as if I was constantly on the verge of ripping open or like he'd said, exploding.

"How do you think?" He asked me with a soft smile. "Being gay isn't easy, especially when you live in a small, conservative town like Lima. Leroy and I went through much the same thing as young teens. He was much more the bullying type, but I think we all know what that feels like to some degree. It's easier to deflect onto other people when you are terrified of who you are and of anyone discovering as much. It doesn't excuse how any of us acted or the fact that you bullied Rachel or anyone else, but it does matter that you were hurting as well, Santana. What matters most, though, is that Rachel has forgiven you as have Leroy and I. Have you forgiven yourself?"

Tears were fully streaming down my cheeks at this point and there was an ache in my chest that just wouldn't fucking quit. I tried to talk but I couldn't so I just shook my head in answer. I hadn't forgiven myself for all the bullying I'd done, especially to Rachel. I didn't know if I would ever be able to.

Leroy smiled sadly at me and said, "Well, I think it's about time you start, sweetheart."

I only cried harder at that, and Hiram motioned me over. I shakily sat my coffee mug on the table beside my chair before pushing myself up and walking over to join them on the couch. I sat between them and they both slipped a hand into mine. They squeezed my hands tightly and I squeezed them back as I rested my head on Hiram's shoulder and just let myself cry.

When I was finally able to calm myself down, I felt Hiram press a soft kiss to the top of my head and he said, "I don't know how Rachel feels, Santana, or if she will even be able to consider her feelings for a long time given everything that's happened. She's only ever shown interest in boys, but she also has a very healthy understanding of sexuality. I can't say that she will ever return your feelings, but if she doesn't, please don't let it bring you down. You are a wonderful young woman, and someday, you will find someone who will appreciate that and show you as much every day. That may end up being our daughter or it may not. Either way, it will happen for you."

"And we hope that you will let us be a part of your life regardless," Leroy added, squeezing my hand tightly. I nodded into Hiram's shoulder as a few more tears slipped down my cheeks and soaked through his shirt. God, how the hell was it possible for two people to be so fucking wonderful? I really didn't understand it, but then again…I guess it made sense, because Rachel was the same way. I loved her for it, and I loved her dads. They, all three of them, made me feel like I was really a part of something special, and I cherished that feeling with everything I had in me.

Leroy squeezed my hand again before chuckling a bit and saying, "And we get it. Rachel can be loud and sometimes even unsettling when you aren't used to her, but once you get to know her, you see that her heart is enormous, and her caring for other people is unconditional and endless. She's easy to fall in love with."

I laughed softly at that and squeezed both their hands. "Yeah," I whispered, "she is."


	15. Chapter 15: I See You

**Chapter Fifteen: I See You**

The first week of Rachel's recovery went by slower than I'd imagined it would. Her dads were in and out as was Kurt, and Quinn called or skyped nearly every night, but I was with Rachel practically every minute. I was there for every high and every low, as I intended to be throughout her entire recovery. I bathed her. I clothed her. I changed her bandages. I held her every night as she slept. I soothed her after every nightmare. I wiped every tear when she broke down afterward. I stayed up talking with her about anything and everything when she couldn't get back to sleep. I reminded her that she was beautiful every time she felt insecure. I reminded her that she was safe every time she felt afraid. I was there—every day, every night. I was there.

And god help me, it only made me fall more in love with her.

I learned more about Rachel Berry in that one week than I had ever learned about her in the entirety of the time I'd known her. She was so much more complex than I'd ever imagined, so much more than everyone had always labeled her to be. Outside of her talent and the confidence that supported it, outside of her loud mouth and extremely verbose manner of speaking, and outside of her quirky fashion sense and veganism, Rachel was surprising and…so beautiful. She could be so timid at times with a quiet stillness and shyness about her that made my heart flutter madly in my chest. She was colorful and layered, but also often black and white in a way that reminded me of those old-ass classic romance movies, because there was a drama about her even when she wasn't being dramatic. It was in the very way that she breathed, as if every breath and every word and every glance was a shocking secret or a precious declaration. I couldn't make any sense of it, but I knew that I wanted more of it.

She was gentle and compassionate, affectionate in ways that reached in and clutched at my soul. She talked to me about her dreams and about her fears. She told me one night that it wasn't the idea of never having Broadway that terrified her as much as it was the idea of her voice ever failing her. She said that her voice was the only thing she had in her life that was always consistent, always there for her, always rich and satisfying, always soothing, always hopeful, always confident, always able to make her feel full and complete and happy—her voice was the one thing that no one could ever put her down about. When she sang, she wasn't some Lima loser. She wasn't the girl in animal sweaters or the nerdy kid that everyone threw slushies at and made fun of. She wasn't a freak. No, when she sang, she said she felt like a star. She felt special. When Rachel Berry sang, there was no one more beautiful, more present, or more worthy of people's love, attention, and affection. She felt truly _seen, _like for once in her life, she _mattered. _

She had cried when she told me that, and my heart had ached in my chest as I cried with her, because I knew that I had been a part of what had always made her feel so invisible and so worthless. It pained me like few things ever had. We had lain in her bed together as the words came out of her in a cracked, whispered confession, and I just held her, wanting nothing more than to show her that she _was _special, always, and not just when she was singing.

She locked gazes with me in the dark that night and I swallowed thickly as she stared right through me, straight into my heart. "You're not singing right now," I whispered to her.

"What do you mean?" she asked me softly, her voice still broken.

I reached over and squeezed her hand tightly before saying, "You're not singing right now, but I still _see_ you. You're still beautiful and…and you still _matter_ to me."

I heard her suck in a shaky breath when I said those words and I wanted to say more, but before I could even open my mouth, I felt her hand on my cheek. It rested there softly as her thumb stroked over my bottom lip and her watery gaze never left mine. "You matter to me, too, Santana," she whispered back to me, and I knew that no words anyone had ever said to me before had ever or could ever mean more than those words, spoken by the only person I truly wanted to hear them from—the girl I had so suddenly and so helplessly and so beautifully fallen in love with.

Rachel would touch me like that sometimes, just a tender brush of her fingertips on my cheek or my arm, or lacing our fingers together, or gently resting her head on my chest or against my shoulder. She would touch me like that, and it always felt so intimate and so…I don't know…epic? That sounds so lame and dramatic, but it's the best I can manage, because it's true. When she touched me like that, all whispers of skin and silent safety, it was like sharing secrets. I had to hold my breath because I was terrified that if I let it out, if I spoke, if I moved, she would run—just scurry away from me like a scared animal. I had to hold my breath because I could feel her touch in every part of me. I had to hold my breath because if I didn't, if I didn't stop myself…I just knew my heart would betray me. It would fly right out of my mouth and confess what I was trying so desperately to keep hidden, not because I didn't want Rachel to know, but because I knew it would just be too much for her right now.

So I held my breath and enjoyed her tender touches in silence. I kept quiet. I waited, giving her my heart in the dark and reaching for hers in tiny increments, in subtle expressions, and in gentle moments, and I waited for the day that I could say it all out loud. I waited.

And I didn't regret it, because Rachel Berry? She was worth the wait.

* * *

At the end of the week, Hiram, Leroy, and I took Rachel back to the hospital to have her stitches removed, which both Rachel and I were thankful for because that meant we wouldn't have to mess with the bandages anymore or have to wash around them. It also meant that she would be able to actually have a real bath as long as we wrapped her cast in a plastic bag to keep it dry and as long as we were careful, because her ribs were still an issue and her incisions would still need to be tended to with the salve and spray for at least another week. Nonetheless, though, it was manageable, and we were both pretty excited about it.

Once we were done at the hospital, we picked up some Thai food on the way back to the loft, and after we ate, Rachel surprised us all by asking her dads to go back to Lima.

"I love you both and I appreciate you being here for me more than you know, but I am an adult now. You don't have to stick by my side and make sure that I'm okay. I assure you that I can care for myself adequately enough, and for the few things I am unable to do, I am sure that Santana or Kurt can assist me well enough. So, please, stop putting your lives on hold for me, for this, because I am fine. I will be fine. Please, go home," she told them with a gentle smile and love in her eyes.

The Berry men seemed pretty conflicted at first, both looking like they wanted to argue with their daughter, but neither actually doing so. I sat there in silence, feeling awkward as hell because I was all up in the middle of another Berry family moment that I shouldn't have been a part of at all. But hell…what was I supposed to do? Rachel had a knack for springing those moments on people before anyone ever had a chance to run away, so yeah…I was stuck just sort of eating the floor with my eyes and biting my lip, keeping quiet until the uncomfortable moment passed.

Thankfully, it did pass a few minutes later when Hiram and Leroy agreed to go back to Lima the next day. I was surprised to realize that I was actually going to be pretty sad to see them go; then again, they had kind of been like fathers to me the past week and we'd gotten pretty close. Maybe it was the whole we're-gay-and-you're-gay-so-we-have-shit-in-common thing, but I really think that that was just an added bonus. Rachel's dads were genuinely just great people and they made me feel safe. They made me feel loved. I was definitely going to miss them.

An hour or so later, they said their tearful goodbyes and I-love-yous to Rachel before turning to me with a long-winded, Rachel-Berry-style lecture about keeping their little girl safe and healthy and happy, which of course I promised to do. I rolled my eyes but couldn't help laughing when they gave me at least six different numbers that I could call if I needed to get in touch with them as well as three different e-mail addresses. Then they both pulled me into a tight hug, and my heart warmed to the point of melting as both Hiram and Leroy told me that they loved me.

I didn't even feel awkward when I said it back, and I didn't hesitate, because yeah…I really did love them, too.

When they left, I slid the door softly shut behind them and turned to see that Rachel was staring at me, a soft smile quirking up at the corners of her lips and her eyes gleaming. "What?" I asked as I made my way back over and plopped down onto the couch beside her.

"My dads love you," she said, reaching out a hand to poke at my side as her smile grew and spread over her lips, beautifully lighting up her features.

I smacked at her hand and said, "Well duh. I'm awesome."

She only smiled wider as she said, "And you said you loved them, too." Crap, she'd heard that.

I just rolled my eyes and said, "Shut it, dwarf." She only laughed out loud at that, and the sound sang right to my soul. I couldn't help the smile that spread across my own features as her laughter spilled into the room. I rose to my feet so that I could go and grab my phone from the kitchen.

"I'm gonna go call Kurt and tell him that we saved him some food so that he doesn't pick anything up on his way home," I told her as I stepped over her legs propped up on a pillow on the coffee table in front of the couch. Before I left the room, though, I did something so stupidly sappy that I made even myself gag.

I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cheek and said, "I missed your laugh." And as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I practically sprinted toward the kitchen, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. So…so…_gay_, Santana. Seriously.

* * *

The next day, I had to make a grocery run, so I made Kurt stay at the loft with Rachel since he didn't have classes that day. Little did I know, though, that Lady Hummel had made plans with his new NYADA choir crush, Adam, and that little miss I'm-not-an-invalid Rachel Berry would actually end up convincing him to go and leave her there alone. Which I guess wouldn't have been a big deal since I wasn't planning on being gone all that long, except that it actually _was_ a really freaking big deal, because it was that day that a bunch of ogre-sized shit decided to hit the fan.


	16. Chapter 16: Close Your Eyes

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has continued to follow and review this story. I appreciate your support more than you know, and hope you continue to enjoy. I will warn you that this chapter has quite a bit of Finn-bashing. XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Sixteen: Close Your Eyes**

I lugged Rachel's massive eco-friendly grocery bags, which I had managed to fill to the brims while shopping, onto the elevator in our building and pressed the button for our floor. As soon as the doors closed, I dropped the bags and shook my arms out because damn that shit was heavy. All I could think was that Rachel had better love the hell out of me for doing all her vegan shopping for her, and not only that, but the fact that I was actually planning on attempting to cook some of that crap for her should earn me one of her damn golden trophies or something.

Christ…I am so whipped.

I grunted with the effort of picking the bags up again just as the elevator was dinging and the doors began to slide open. I barely got out of the thing, though, before a very familiar scream ripped through the hallway, piercing my eardrums, and my heart just fucking stopped. Panic screamed through my veins as I dropped the bags, and in a breath, I was sprinting.

"Stop! Stop! Don't touch me, please!" I heard Rachel shouting, her voice thick with panic and tears, and I felt my stomach rock and roar inside me.

Before I even made it to the end of the hallway, I could see that the door to our loft was wide open, and it only fueled my fear. My sneaks pounded against the concrete floor of the hallway, and though it took only seconds for me to make it to the open door, it felt like hours to my panicked mind, and I was fucking terrified of what I would find. And just as I was sprinting through the open door, I heard another voice that I recognized.

"Rachel, come on! It's me! Stop screaming! What's wrong with you?!"

I could hardly even process the scene before me as my head was a fucking hazy mess, but it all quickly became clear. The massive form of Finn Hudson stood looming over Rachel in her wheelchair, his arms reaching for her as she was frantically trying to wheel backwards and away from him. I didn't understand it at first, because I knew that Rachel had always had a thing for the ogre, but then it all hit me.

And I just lost my fucking mind.

"Hey! Get the hell away from her!" I shouted as I ripped through the room and dug my fingers into the back of Finn's shirt. I don't even know where the strength came from, but I damn near tossed the idiot across the loft. He stumbled backwards with a yelp and I barely had time to process the terror in Rachel's now glazed over eyes and the tears streaming down her cheeks before I whipped around to face Finn.

"What the hell, Santana?" Finn shouted at me. "What is your problem? And why was Rachel screaming at me?"

Rage rippled through me to combine with the remnants of fear that I had only just felt when coming off of the elevator, and I couldn't tamp it down. I lunged at him and planted my fist firmly in the side of his face. His head whipped to the side, a hand shooting up to cup his jaw as he howled in pain, and I couldn't help but feel a little satisfied about that.

My breathing was ragged and I could feel my chest heaving as I went at him again. I knew I was being irrational, but I couldn't stop myself. It was like I was fucking possessed, because all that was flashing through my mind in that moment was that night—images of Rachel bleeding and naked on the ground, and suddenly the guy in front of me wasn't Finn Hudson anymore. He was Rachel's attacker.

I planted my fist in his face again before bringing a heavy knee right to the apex of his thighs. He let out a high-pitched wail before instantly doubling over, dropping hard to his knees, and nearly spilling the contents of his stomach on the floor as he gagged in pain. "Stop," he gasped out. "Santana, stop. It's me, Finn. Stop, please!"

Somehow his words managed to split through the haze over my mind and break through to me, and I instantly pulled back, shaking my head hard to clear it out. My breathing was still heavy and my entire body was shaking from the overwhelming combination of sensations erupting through my body—fear, panic, anxiety, adrenaline, fury.

"I…I…" I tried to say, but my voice cracked and tears instantly built in my eyes. My eyes darted back and forth between Rachel, frozen in her chair, and Finn, curled on the ground with his hands cupped around his crotch, and I couldn't even fucking think. I couldn't process what had just happened, how I had completely lost it, so I did the only thing I could think of. I pulled out my cell and dialed Kurt.

"_Santana, hi," _Kurt answered, and the rage that had been burning in my veins instantly rekindled into a roaring flame, scorching every inch of me.

"Get your ass home, right now, Porcelain!" I screamed into the phone.

"_Why? Santana, did something happen? Oh my goodness, is Rachel okay?" _Kurt asked, anxiety suddenly evident in his voice as he began to ramble off questions and it only further pissed me off.

"No, she's not fucking okay!" I yelled at him. "And neither is your idiotic oaf of a step-brother, who I just went all kinds of Lima Heights on, so I suggest you say goodbye to your choir queen and get the hell home NOW!"

I didn't even wait for an answer before I hung up. I knew Adam's place wasn't too far, so it wouldn't take Kurt any more than ten minutes or so to get home if he left right then, which he better have if he knew what was good for him. I shoved my phone into my pocket and turned toward Finn, who was still on the ground. He was looking at me now, though, and I could already see the bruises forming on his jaw and the small open and bleeding cut on his lower lip.

I glared at him and said, "You don't fucking move until Kurt gets back. I'm taking Rachel to her room, and if you even so much as blink in that direction, so help me, Finnocence, I'll pull a razorblade from my hair and I WILL _cuts_ them off!"

He audibly gulped, his eyes wide and terrified, and I knew that he wouldn't be moving any time soon. I turned to Rachel then and she still hadn't moved. I didn't even know if she had blinked. She was frozen in place, her chocolate eyes glazed over, tears still tracking her cheeks and her hands clenched forcefully around the arms of her wheelchair, her knuckles white and straining.

Fear was like a beast inside me as I very slowly, very cautiously made my way toward Rachel. I didn't know what to say or what to do, because I hadn't seen her look at that way before. Pure terror was written all over her face, and all I could think was how the hell was I going to bring her out of this? She was trapped in her own head just like I had been only minutes before, but I could easily imagine what must be flashing through her mind in that moment—all the things I'd heard her tell the detective that day at the station, and it just made my stomach lurch all over again. I just hoped that my voice and my presence would be enough to calm her and bring her out of it.

I crouched down in front of her wheelchair and held my hands out in front of me, palms open, so that she could clearly see them, and I made my voice as soft as possible as I said, "Rachel…it's just me, Santana. Can you hear me?"

She didn't move. I didn't even know if she was breathing at this point and her knuckles only gripped the arms of her chair harder. I took a chance then, because I was afraid she was going to fucking pass out from lack of oxygen or something. I slowly reached forward and rested the palms of my hands on the back of hers. She jumped and let out a squeal, her entire body jolting, but it effectively shook her out of her trance.

Her terrified eyes instantly locked with mine and for a second it was almost like she didn't recognize me, but then I saw the light shift in those chocolate pools and recognition flooded over her features. "It's just me," I said to her again, and as soon as she heard my voice, her entire body collapsed from its rigid posture and she completely broke down.

A heart-wrenching sob escaped her, tears spilling anew from her eyes, and then she was reaching for me. "Santana," she cried, her fingers instantly digging into the sleeves of my shirt and yanking me forward. She clutched at me as if her life depended on my physical presence, and so I let her. I carefully slid my arms around her and let her bury her head in my neck. I could literally hear her breathing me in, as if she was trying to calm herself just with my scent or something. With anyone else, I would have thought that was creepy as hell, but this was Rachel, and honestly…knowing that the scent of me calmed her made my heart fucking explode with joy.

"It's okay, baby, I've got you," I whispered to her, not even thinking about what I was saying, and the affectionate pet name just kind of slipped out, but Rachel didn't even seem to notice. So, I just stroked her hair and let her hold me until she was able to really breathe again.

I kept whispering reassurances in her ear even as I could feel Finnept's eyes on us. I didn't give a fuck what he thought or that he was staring, because all I cared about was Rachel and making sure that she was okay. "It's just me and you," I told her softly. "You're okay. It's all gonna be okay."

After a few minutes, I felt Rachel nod against my shoulder and she let out a shaky sigh of relief. I pulled back just a bit to look in her eyes, and as soon as our gazes connected, I smiled at her and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "Let's go," I whispered to her and she nodded again. "Close your eyes," I told her, because I didn't want her to have to see Finn and like relapse into another panic or something before I could get her to her room, and it warmed me to see that she didn't even hesitate to do as I asked. She trusted me to keep her safe.

As soon as her soft eyes fluttered closed, I instantly jumped around to the back of her chair and wheeled her to her room, shooting a death-glare at a very confused ogre as I went.

* * *

I wheeled Rachel into her room, which had really become more like _our _room since I slept in there with her every night, and I easily pulled her up and out of her chair before sitting her down gently on the bed. I noticed that her eyes were still closed, so I climbed in beside her and wrapped my arm around her shoulders and whispered, "You can open your eyes now, Rach."

She opened them and turned her head so that her gaze instantly locked with mine. A soft whimper escaped her as her bottom lip trembled and she began to apologize. "I'm so sorry, Santana. I didn't mean to…to…panic. I just opened the door and he came at me so quickly, and I panicked. I…all I could see was…" She couldn't finish a sentence and it made my heart ache in my chest even though I didn't really need her to finish it. I already knew what she had been seeing in her head.

"You went to the dark place?" I asked her softly. I had started calling it the "dark place" every time Rachel had nightmares about her attack or freaked out after having a flashback of it. It was a childish way to put it, but I figured it was a hell of a lot better than saying something like, "Were you thinking about the guy that raped you?" And Rachel hadn't seemed to mind me calling it that and started referring to it as the "dark place" before long as well. So, that's what it was, and that's what I was going to continue to call it until hopefully a day came when the "dark place" was so far behind us that we never had to mention it again.

"Yes," she whispered and new tears dripped from her eyelashes. I caught them before they could make a path down her cheeks and wiped them away. She smiled softly as I told her, "So did I."

"You did?" she asked me, eyes soft and affectionate as she stared right into my soul.

I nodded. "Yeah, and I may have went a little Lima Heights on your ex-boyfriend in there before I realized what I was doing and stopped."

I expected her to be appalled by that, because I was pretty sure that when I had actually been doing the beating, Rachel had been so far in her head that she hadn't even known what the hell was going on in there. But she wasn't appalled. She didn't even look remotely angry about. In fact, she completely surprised me by laughing out loud.

I didn't know why she was laughing, but I quickly joined her, because it just felt so fucking good after all the fear and the anger that had been eating me alive since I'd come off that elevator. We laughed together for a good few minutes before she raised a hand to my cheek and her eyes were so full of love in that moment that my breath instantly caught in my throat and my heart hammered into my ribcage like it was trying to escape.

"It seems you have been saving me a lot lately, Santana," she whispered.

I swallowed thickly, gulping down the lump that had begun to build in my throat as I weakly managed to choke out a reply. "Y-you're worth it," I said in a stuttered breath.

A gorgeous smile lit her face at those words but she didn't say anything else. She just continued to stroke my cheek with her thumb, and I didn't even realize that I was leaning forward until I felt my nose brush against hers and saw that her eyes had fluttered closed again. I gasped out loud, unfortunately, and it caused her eyes to fly open as I mentally berated myself for not paying better attention, for allowing myself to get swept up in a moment and in my own feelings for Rachel. But then, as her eyes locked onto mine again, everything kind of hit me all at once. She hadn't pulled back. She hadn't protested even as she saw me leaning toward her. She'd actually closed her eyes as if she expected me to kiss her, as if she _wanted _me to. And damn if that didn't make my fucking head spin.

"S-sorry," I muttered as I pulled back just a bit. Her eyes only softened further at me and I swear I saw a flash of disappointment in those chocolate depths before she just smiled at me again and gently shook her head. "A-are you okay now?" I asked her, trying to change the subject before I embarrassed myself any further.

Again, she didn't say anything. She just nodded and then moved to rest her head against my shoulder. I let my own head drop on top of hers and just held her tightly. She took my free hand and began to play with my fingers in the silence. She ran her fingertips over my hand, the back of it, the palm of it, every finger, every tip, every nail. It was soft and intimate and it had tingles erupting over every inch of my body in seconds.

If Kurt didn't show up soon, I was going to fucking implode.

And thankfully, he did, as I heard his voice screeching through the loft less than five minutes later.

* * *

"Finn Hudson, what did you do?!" I heard Kurt squeal from the other room, and I was quickly on my feet.

"I'm gonna go talk to them," I told Rachel quickly. "Maybe it's best if you stay in here for a bit." She didn't argue, which I was thankful for. So, I just dropped a quick kiss to her cheek and scampered out of the room to deal with Lady Hummel and his utterly fuck-tarded brother.

As soon as I stepped out into the living room of the loft, I had to roll my eyes at the little scene that was waiting for me. Kurt had his hands on his hips, his foot tapping incessantly, and his face screaming ten kinds of gay diva. I noticed that he'd grabbed the groceries I'd left by the elevator and I made a mental note to thank him for that later and then I turned toward the idiot in the room. And Finnessa…well, I wasn't surprised at all to see that he had his signature confused pouty face on that made him look like a gassy baby in the process of filling a diaper. I would've laughed out loud if it wasn't for the fact that as soon as I saw him, my anger rekindled and burned on my tongue with a string of insults that I just knew I wasn't going to be able to keep in for very long.

"I didn't do anything, I swear!" Finn told him. "I knocked and Rachel let me in, and I tried to hug her but she just started screaming and trying to get away from me, and then Santana came in and starting beating the hell out of me! I don't know how that makes me the bad guy."

"Because Finncompetent, you're a grade-A idiot and you fucking deserved that ass-beating and _more,_" I quickly cut in. "You're lucky I stopped when I did."

"And _you_," I said, whirling around to face Kurt. "What the hells where you thinking leaving Rachel here by herself? I told you not to leave. Is your choir-bitch boyfriend really more important than your _best_ friend who _needs _you more than you need to get your gay freak on? Could you really not wait an _hour _for me to get back before running off to play Brokeback Mountain with Adam?"

Kurt's entire face turned a violent red as he instantly began to stutter out an answer that I really didn't have the patience to try and decipher. I threw up a hand to stop him and said, "You know what? Don't even answer that, because it's only gonna piss me off more, and I really don't wanna have to commit Hummelcide this early in the damn day."

His mouth instantly snapped shut but his face continued to look like a guilty beet for another five full minutes before he relaxed, which I took great satisfaction in, of course. I turned back to the jolly-green giant and glared at him. "Now, I wants an explanation, and I wants it _now_. What are you even doing here, Finn?"

"Uh…Kurt called me and told me what happened to Rachel," he said, his gaze dropping to the floor.

"Yes, but I did not tell you to jump on a plane to New York," Kurt snapped, and now both he and I were glaring at Finn like we were trying to drill into his damn skull with our eyes and insert some fucking sense where, obviously, none had ever existed. "In fact, I specifically told you _not _to."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Finn cried out, throwing his hands in the air. "You can't call me and tell me that my future wife was attacked and not expect me to come out here to see if she's okay."

"Okay, holds up!" I said, anger overwhelming me at hearing Finn refer to Rachel as his future wife, because hells to the no. Rachel was _mine_; at least, she would be…one day…hopefully. "First of all, Rachel is not your property or even your girlfriend, let alone your future wife, so stop trying to act all heroic and shit. And second of all, are you seriously telling me that you _knew _what happened to Rachel and you still tried to go all hungry giant on her and gobble her up with your big meaty arms?"

"You're the one that called me to come and beat that Brody guy up not that long ago so why are you acting like I'm not supposed to show up when something like this happens? I thought when you called me it meant that Rachel still loved me and that you supported us being together." Finn whined at me, completely ignoring my question, or it was entirely more likely that he just didn't understand it—how in the hell a person that big could be filled with nothing but stupid was entirely beyond me.

"Oh please, Finnability," I mocked, rolling my eyes, "I only called you to deal with the man-whore because I'd just gotten my nails done and didn't wants to waste a perfectly good mani on a prostitute. And since you're always so eager to prove you're more than just a giant baby disguised as a man, I figured persuading you to do the dirty work for me would be easy, but don't get it twisted, Hudson. Rachel is _not _yours and she doesn't need _you_ to defend her honor. I could've taken Brody on my own."

"What, are you like into her or something now, Satan?" He sneered at me and it fucking set my teeth on edge. "I saw the way you were looking at her and I heard you call her baby, but Rachel's not Brittany, Santana. She's not gay and she's not going to be your girlfriend just because you saved her life."

My cheeks instantly flamed. I could feel them burning, but it wasn't embarrassment. It was pure unadulterated rage. "Oh, that is it!" I screamed and lunged at him, but Kurt caught me around the middle, doing his best to hold me back from the chubby fuck that I was ten feet away from putting in a shallow grave.

I screamed at him from behind Kurt, slipping in and out of Spanish without even realizing it. "How dare you talk to me like that, you pathetic hijo de puta! Rachel no te quiere y no te necesita. So cierra la boca gorda, Man Boobs, before I fucking shut it for you!"

"Santana!" Kurt shouted as he pushed at me as hard as his little lady arms would allow. "Calm down! No one here understands Spanish and Rachel wouldn't want you to kill Finn."

That immediately had me backing off, not because I gave a fuck about what Rachel thought of Finn Hudson, but because I gave a serious fuck about what Rachel thought of _me_. It was too easy for me to get swept up in my anger and let Snix take the reins, but I knew that Hummel was right. Rachel wouldn't want me losing my shit again, so I chilled and stopped fighting to get at Finn, but my anger didn't dissipate in the slightest.

I stepped back from Kurt and smoothed down my shirt, cracking my neck to the left and right, while I tried to slow down my heart-rate and calm my breathing, but just the fact that that ogre was still in room prevented me from being able to calm down completely. So, I just glared at him as evilly as I could manage and silently hoped that it would be enough to like hex his soul with some psychic Mexican voodoo or something equally horrific.

"Let's everybody just calm down," Kurt said, waving his hands in a placating manner that did anything but actually calm me down.

"Santana is right, Finn," he then said, and instantly Kurt was back on my good side, because yeah…damn right I was right.

Finn looked like he was about to protest which equated to him looking like he had a bad case of indigestion and I couldn't help but mentally scoff and wonder how in the hell both Rachel and Quinn had ever been interested in him. Kurt quickly held his hand up to keep Finn from interrupting and said, "You shouldn't have come here. Rachel is not your girlfriend anymore, and I'm sure she's glad you care about her and the thought was lovely, but honestly, Finn. Knowing what Rachel went through, did you really think it was a good idea to show up here and make her uncomfortable by trying to push yourself on her?"

"It was just a hug!" Finn shouted, throwing his hands up again. "And it's ME! Rachel _knows _me. She loves me. Why would I make her uncomfortable?"

"Oh sweet Barbra, Finn," Kurt exclaimed, rolling his eyes, "must I spell it out for you?"

"Oh no, allow me," I cut in. "You see, Finnadequate, Rachel was _attacked. _She didn't bump her head or have a little accident and end up in that wheelchair. She was _attacked _by a _man. _She was beaten and stabbed and fucking _RAPED _by a man." My voice cracked as I said those words, but I kept on, because Finn needed to get it through his thick skull that this wasn't something he could fix, let alone even understand. "That isn't some easy little accident that you can clean up with one of your squishy-baby hugs, okay? What the hell do you think happened when you went at her? I'll tell you. It scared the living fuck out of her. That's what happened. All she could process was that an eight-foot-tall ogre was looming over her, and it caused her to panic. She's fucking traumatized, you idiot. You tried to wrap around her like a koala and it caused her to flash back to the attack."

Finally, FINALLY, it seemed to hit him. Comprehension dawned on his face and then he instantly looked guilty. "I didn't know that would happen. So…does that mean I can't be around her?" he asked.

"It would probably be best if you weren't, at least for a while," Kurt said. "You're a big guy, Finn. It's probably intimidating to Rachel so soon after the attack."

"You can't just go at her like that," I told him. "She needs time to heal, which she _was _doing by the way, until you decided to fucking Finnterfere and it sent her right back to the damn dark place. I swear, how in the hells can you be so dense?"

"Santana," Kurt said, frowning at me in that strangely stern, fatherly way he seemed to be capable of sometimes. It always weirded me the hell out.

"No," I snapped at Kurt. "I'm gonna say this because it needs to be said." I turned back to Finn then and just threw it all out on the table. "You threw Rachel on a train and told her to move on, and she was heartbroken. Then you went off to the army and you just fucking ignored her and acted like she didn't even exist, but she got past it. She _did_ move on, and she was the better for it. And then she got with man-whore and that was unfortunate, but at least he had abs. And just because you got a little saucy at Shue's non-wedding and Rachel had a weak moment and decided to sleep with you again, doesn't mean that you're automatically her boyfriend again or her husband or whatever the hell it is you think you are. You haven't been shit to her since high school, and that's nobody's fault but YOURS. You're only there for her when it suits you. You only care when it benefits you, and Rachel deserves better than that. You're never going to understand what she went through with the attack because you weren't there _and_ you're fucking _slow_. We just had to sit here and spell it all out for you. You're _not good enough _for her, Finn!"

"Shut up, Santana!" Finn shouted at me. "You don't know anything." But I was on a roll, and he was damn well going to hear what I had to say. No one else had ever had the balls to throw his own self-righteous idiocy in his face, but I did, and it was going to be done right freaking now.

"You think you have some sort of claim on Rachel. You think you have a right to her because you dated her in high school and idiotically proposed so you could ride her coattails to fame, and yeah, she was infatuated with you enough at the time to agree to it, but only because she didn't realize that she deserved better. But Rachel doesn't belong to you, Finn. You abandoned her and now she doesn't need you anymore, okay? You're not her hero. _You_ didn't find her in that alley. _I_ did. _You_ didn't have to hear her begging you for help._ I_ did. _You_ didn't have to be covered in her blood and terrified that she was going to die in your arms. _I_ did. _You_ didn't have to pick her up and literally CARRY her to the hospital in order to save her life. I DID!"

"Santana," Kurt tried again, and I could hear his voice cracking with tears, but I didn't care. My heart was pounding and my veins were hot, and all I could think was that Finn Fucking Hudson needed to disappear before I exploded. I didn't want him there and I didn't want him near Rachel. He'd been nothing but bad news for her since the beginning, and she deserved better. And yeah, maybe I wasn't a major upgrade considering how I'd treated Rachel in high school, but at least I understood her. At least I knew how incredible she was. At least I knew what she was worth, and Finn—he'd never really known. He never even appreciated her enough to remember that she was vegan, for crying out loud. REALLY?!

"_You _aren't the one who lived in a hospital with her for two fucking days and nights because she was terrified to be without you for even a second. That was _ME. You _aren't the one who helps wash her and get her dressed every day. _I _am. _You _aren't the one who stays up with her all night when she can't sleep because every time she closes her eyes, she sees that fucking bastard that did this to her. _I _am. _You _aren't the one that…that…has to _see _her cry and scream in the times that she does actually fall asleep. _I…_"

My voice failed me then, my throat too thick with tears, and I nearly crumbled to the floor, but I refused to be weak in front of Finn Hudson. I forced myself to keep talking because my heart was telling me to lay it all on the line. "And I do it because she needs me, and because unlike you, _I_ don't run away when things don't go exactly the way I plan or the way I want them to," I barely managed to get out, my voice cracking like mad.

I sucked in a shaky breath even as my heart was so heavy that it felt like someone had tied a fucking bag of stones to it and my knees were shaking. I swallowed thickly and seriously contemplated ranting some more, but I really didn't think I'd be able to without breaking down, so I just shook my head and croaked out, "Just go."

My chest was heaving as I lowered my gaze to the floor because I refused to let him see me cry, but really all I wanted to do in that moment was run to Rachel. I wanted to dive into that bed with her, bury myself in her arms, and just forget the entire world for a night. But first, I wanted that fucking ogre out of my house.

I felt a hand land gently on my shoulder and I looked up to see Kurt. His cheeks were streaked with tears and his eyes were wide as he stared into me. He then turned to Finn, though he didn't let go of my shoulder, and said, "I'm sorry Finn, but I think it's best if you just go back to Lima. If Rachel wants to talk to you or see you, she can call, but for now, you should go."

I turned and looked at Finn one last time just to see if he was going to argue and I was shocked to see that his cheeks, too, were wet. He locked gazes with me and I could have sworn that he was about to say something, that he desperately wanted to, but instead he just let out a heavy sigh and nodded his head. And then he was gone.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asked me as soon as the door slid closed behind Finn.

"Not even close," I told him honestly, and what he said next caused a shock to my system that I just wasn't prepared for.

"You're in love with her," he said quietly enough that I barely caught it, but I did, and it wasn't a question. My gaze snapped to his in an instant, fear racing through my chest, because no one was supposed to know. Rachel couldn't find out, not until she was ready to know, not until we were ready to share that together.

"How…" I started to ask, but he just smiled at me through his tears and shook his head.

"Honey, please, after that speech?" he said, quirking his eyebrow and smirking at me, and I realized exactly what he meant. I'd pretty much laid my heart bare right there in the living room and not only in front of Kurt but in front of Finn, too. Shit. Shit, shit, shit! What if he told Rachel? What if…oh fuck.

I couldn't let Rachel find out that way.

"Please don't tell her, Kurt," I begged him and I could see the shock on his face at hearing the vulnerability in my voice, because well…Santana Lopez didn't do vulnerable. Hell, it surprised me, too.

"I won't," he said sincerely, "and I'll make sure Finn doesn't say anything either, if he's even figured it out, that is."

"Thank you," I said and then I didn't even think about what I was doing. I didn't care that it was completely unlike me to initiate affection. I just really needed someone in that moment, so I turned fully to Kurt and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

He gasped at first, but it didn't take him long to reciprocate. He held me tightly and rubbed circles into my back. "For what it's worth," he whispered, "I think she loves you, too."

And my heart just fucking soared.

* * *

I took a good ten minutes to recover from my cryfest with Kurt before I decided to woman up and go back to Rachel's room. When I walked in, she was sitting on the bed where I had left her, staring at her hands and humming softly to herself. It was beautiful. I hadn't heard her sing since before her attack, and even though she wasn't technically singing, humming was the closest she'd gotten since then, and it was absolutely gorgeous. Only Rachel Berry could make humming sound like it should be on a fucking platinum record.

She glanced up when I came into the room and a soft smile curved up at the corners of her lips. She motioned me over and I went without saying a word. It was like I was a damn puppet, like there were strings attached to my heart and my limbs and Rachel was the puppeteer, because I would pretty much do whatever she wanted me to, go wherever she asked me to. I didn't know if it was because I had realized that I loved her or if it was because every single day, at least twice a day, the thought slammed into my head that I could have lost her. She could be dead right now, so yeah…I wanted to be with her. I wanted to do whatever I could to help her and comfort her, and if I happened to get some comfort for myself in the process, then hey…everybody wins.

I crawled into the bed beside her and she patted her lap adorably. I laid my head in her lap and felt her fingers instantly dive into my hair. She scratched lightly at my scalp and brushed through my hair with her hands and I damn near purred it felt so fucking good. "Did you hear everything?" I asked her as she continued to play with my hair.

She hummed as an answer, and I took it to mean that she had. I didn't say anything after that. I just let myself get lost in the feeling of Rachel's hands on me and nearly fell asleep when I heard her whisper softly to me. "Thank you for what you said, Santana."

I turned in her lap then, so that the back of my head rested gently on her thighs and looked up at her as she continued. "Albeit it was rather harsh and highly insulting to Finn, I appreciate your passion. You were right. It took me a long time to realize it, but Finn and I never would have worked out. I know that now. He wasn't the right guy for me."

"Who is then?" I asked her, smirking a bit because Rachel Berry had just admitted that I, Santana Lopez, was right about something.

"Perhaps there isn't one," she said softly, and I could feel my brow furrowing as I looked up at her.

"Don't think like that, Rach," I told her. "You'll find someone who will treat you how you deserve to be treated, and all of this will just be like a distant memory." Of course, I didn't tell her that I wanted that someone to be me. That could definitely wait.

"Oh, I know," she said, which only confused me more, "or at least, I hope so. I just meant that perhaps the right person for me isn't a _guy _at all."

And well…that definitely got my attention. I could literally feel my eyebrows shooting into my hairline as I looked at her in shock. "Wha—you mean a..a girl?" I asked her, seriously not believing what I was hearing but hoping to every god I could think of that I was hearing her correctly.

She laughed at me then, and the sound was like pure fucking ecstasy. She ran a hand through my hair again and instead of answering me, she just clicked her tongue, and said, "You should try and get some sleep. I know you're tired."

"But—" I started to protest, because I seriously needed to know that that was what she had meant. I needed the answer like I needed air.

"Hush," she said, though she never stopped smiling at me and there was something in her eyes that I couldn't quite place, but whatever it was…it looked like hope to me. "Close your eyes."

I huffed out an annoyed breath but did as she asked and closed my eyes. I felt her fingers scratching at my scalp again and let myself get lost in the feeling, and within minutes, I fell away from the world—safely and comfortably asleep with Rachel Berry's hands in my hair.


	17. Chapter 17: The Letter S

**A/N: Hello everyone. I wanted to ask that if you are able to, please log in before you review if you are going to ask me questions in your reviews. This is the only way that I can respond to your questions directly. I would appreciate it greatly! **

**For now, I wanted to address a specific guest review, which read: "****Rachel has a classic case of 'damsel in distress' syndrome, Santana does know that right? She'd have pseudo-romantic feelings for whoever rescued her from the alley."**

**In response, I first want to say thank you for bringing this up. Secondly, I want to say that this effect does not happen with ALL cases like Rachel's, so it is not definite that that is the case at all. However, I will say that this very issue will be addressed in a later chapter, although that does not necessarily mean that Rachel is having such an experience. Great question, and thanks for posing it.**

**Alright, now on with the story. This is a more humorous chapter, and has much to do with Santana's internal reflections and concerns about her growing relationship with Rachel. Enjoy! XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Seventeen: The Letter "S"**

It had been twenty-three days since Rachel was released from the hospital, and thankfully, she was actually doing pretty well, better than anyone had expected of her. We'd developed a nice, solid routine that worked for both Rachel and I—covering everything from dressing/undressing to showers/baths to eating to bathroom breaks to bedtime. We did practically everything together and in only twenty-three days, it was like the universe hit me with a damn shrink ray and my entire life narrowed to revolve around a small, solitary person—Rachel Barbra Berry. She, and our little routine, had become my whole world without me even realizing it. And _that_, of course, was just fucking nuts.

I mean, I guess it made sense. It was easy to lose yourself in something when it felt good and right, but it was even easier to do so when you literally had nothing else to distract you or demand your attention. I didn't have a job. I didn't go to school, and I wasn't in a relationship; unless, of course, you counted the strange symbiotic relationship that I had developed with Rachel (if I was remembering my biology lessons correctly. God, if people ever knew that I had actually paid attention in my classes in high school…). Or maybe it was more like a parasitic relationship, the only catch being that Rachel and I each served as _both _the parasite _and_ the host. Because, yeah, we were all mutually dependent and shit, but it just somehow seemed to go beyond that. It was like we didn't just _need _each other. It was more like we were actually fucking _feeding _off of being around one another.

Okay wait. I'm going to go ahead and stop myself there before I manage to make Rachel and I sound even more like weird-ass pod people from a bad sci-fi book than I already have.

My _point, _because I did actually have one, was that I no longer had a damn clue where Rachel ended and I began, or the other way around. Whatever. We'd gotten so used to one another, so adapted to each other, in those twenty-three days that we could practically read each other's minds. I mean, I'd known Quinn and Brittany way longer than Rachel, like years and years and years, and I knew pretty much everything about them, but in only twenty-three fucking days, I had become like a damn wizard or psychic or something when it came to all things Rachel Berry. Maybe it was because we spent literally almost every minute together. Maybe it was because we went to bed together every night and woke up together every morning. Maybe it was because we secretly fantasized about one another (okay, so that part was just me). Maybe it was because we stayed up late so often just talking about anything and everything. Or maybe…maybe the biggest reason was because Rachel and I shared the "dark place."

When there's only one person in your life that knows how you're feeling about something, or maybe doesn't know entirely but at least can share _some _of your trauma, it's like your soul just latches onto that person and hangs on for dear life. It's like you've suddenly never needed anything or anyone more than you need the comfort of that one person who can offer you even the tiniest bit of understanding, even the smallest hint of empathy. It's like nothing and no one else even matters, and that's just…well, that's just everything. It's beautiful, and it's terrifying.

I hadn't put much thought into it before, but once I actually did, I didn't really know _what_ to think or how to feel about any of it. It seriously started to unnerve me, because I worried that maybe it wasn't healthy for us to be so attached to each other, especially given that our relationship was legitimately platonic (on the surface, at least, because inside I was pretty much screaming "KISS ME!" like twenty-four-seven). Maybe it wasn't healthy for Rachel to be so wrapped up in me and not actually interacting with other people, except for the occasional movie and dinner with Kurt when he was home with us, and of course the few days that Quinn had been able to visit from Yale. Even that mean-ass, albeit fucking HOT, dance teacher of Rachel's showed up at the loft…TWICE. It seemed the lady actually did give a shit about the dwarf after all. She'd even cried a bit when we talked about Rachel's injuries. Shocked the hell out of Berry—oh god, her facial expression in that moment had been priceless.

Other than that, though, yeah, Rachel Berry's life pretty much went like this: Santana. Santana. Bath. Santana. Vegan (aka bird) food. Santana. Santana. Wheelchair. Santana. Nightmares. Santana….and well, you get the picture.

In my humble and totally non-biased opinion, _that _is a pretty damn sweet life; at least, if you take out the bird food, the wheelchair, and the nightmares. Yup, baths and Santana. Sounds hella wonderful if you ask me, but here's the catch:

Rachel's life _before _the attack went a little more like this: Singing. Singing. NYADA. Singing. Occasional poor choice of boyfriend. Singing. NYADA. Singing. Vegan (aka bird) food. Singing. BROADWAY. BROADWAY. BROADWAY…dreams, of course, not the real thing (at least not yet). And so on and so forth.

Now, the issue there? Check the comparison. Oooh yeah, there was a _ton_ of the letter "S" in the happy, pre-attack life of Rachel Berry, but unfortunately, not a damn one of them was followed lovingly by "antana." And therein lay the issue.

Rachel and I had definitely been growing closer prior to her attack, but I knew I wasn't one of the most important people in her life. At least, I didn't think that I was. And now…now I was THE _most _important person in her life. I was everything now, and that both scared the hell out of me and elated me beyond words.

I wanted to be important to Rachel, and yeah, maybe a part of me did really hope to be the _most _important, but another part of me was so fucking terrified that the only reason I was in that position now was because I'd saved her life. Would Rachel still have been this way with me if I hadn't saved her life, if I had just been a coward? Or what if the attack had never happened at all? Would Rachel have ever come to need me this way?

There were parts of me that needed so badly to know the answers to those questions, but then there were other parts of me, deeper parts, that were far too terrified of what those answers might be.

Because I truly believed that even if the attack had never happened, I would have fallen for Rachel Berry somewhere along the way anyway. I just didn't know that I could say the same for her.

* * *

Twenty-three days since Rachel's release from the hospital and things had been great between the dwarf and me; however, a little over two weeks since the epically fucked debacle also known as Finn Baby-Fat Hudson, and that graceless ogre had become the bane of my otherwise glorious existence. Oh sure, he'd stayed the hell away from New York and Rachel ever since Kurt went all diva-brother on him and I declared a Lima-Heights-style Mexican-American war on his chubby ass; HOWEVER, Lumps the Clown had actually managed to stumble upon his (more than likely) tiny, doll-sized testicles and dared to shift the battleground to the internet, aka Facebook.

Nearly every day since the Orca swam back to Lima, he'd posted a lame-ass jab (both subtly and not-so-subtly aimed at me) on his Facebook status. Normally, I would find it ridiculously funny if someone who had retained enough baby fat to look like the giant legal version of a dirty old man's deep, dark, perverted dreams actually had the nerve to step to me on Facebook or otherwise, but this wasn't a normal situation. This was different. Finn was saying personal things…or at least, he was implying them, and all Rachel would have to do was open her newsfeed to see them and she'd easily be able to put the pieces together.

Finn fucking Hudson was messing with my life and with Rachel's, and all because he was feeling sorry for himself; and what was worse than that was that he didn't seem to have a fucking care or respect in the world for what either of us had been through, especially the girl he claimed to love so freaking much. He was too busy being concerned about his oversized self and his vendetta against a certain hot Latina (no names, of course), to even think about how immature or insensitive he was being.

Seriously…no, seriously…You know those times in your life when someone will say some annoyingly, ambiguously optimistic shit like "God made us all," or "Let's love one another," or whatever? Yeah…well, it was times like _these _that I wanted to find one of those people and introduce him or her to Tubs Hudson and ask them to explain what the hell had been going through God's mind when he decided to take a giant human mold, fill it with 250 pounds of stupid, and top it off with creepy triangular custard nipples and a persistent diarrhea face. Because I was basically inclined to believe that God had just been high as a fucking kite that day. Or maybe he'd been joking. If so, that dude had a seriously twisted sense of humor. And either way—no, no, _no_ me gusta.

I'd been doing my best to ignore his statuses. I mean, I read them. Of course I read them, because I had to be prepared in case Rachel happened to see them and jumped to conclusions. We were good, Rachel and I. We'd been really, really good ever since that day with Finn—all gentle touches and soft laughter and whispered conversations and NO awkward almost-kisses. I didn't want to lose that, so I kept myself informed and prepared, but I did my best not to rise to the obvious bait. I didn't comment on the statuses, which I hoped only pissed him off more, but it turned out that I didn't really need to say anything at all, because for every single status Finn made, he always got at least _one_ comment and every one of them was from the same person—Quinn.

Kurt and I had filled her in on everything that had happened with the ogre, and there had practically been steam coming out of her ears by the time we were finished. Ever since then, she'd made it a point to comment on all of Finn's rude-ass statuses. And damn if that wasn't the funniest shit ever.

* * *

**Finn Hudson: **_wishes people, who were never anything but mean to someone in high school, would not pretend to care about that someone just because those people like helped that someone out one time._

**-Quinn Fabray: **_wishes that Finn Hudson would stop writing convoluted Facebook statuses in order to comment on circumstances that are none of his business._

* * *

**Finn Hudson: **_I really miss my girlfriend._

**-Quinn Fabray: **_You don't even have a girlfriend._

* * *

**Finn Hudson: **_Just because you want her to be your girlfriend doesn't mean she's going to be. Even if you did save her life, she's not gay. NOT GAY!_

**-Quinn Fabray: **_Just because you want her to be your girlfriend doesn't mean she's going to be. Even if you did idiotically pop the question in high school, she's not your property. NOT COOL!_

Oh yeah. I laughed hysterically at that one. Well played, Quinn. Well played.

* * *

**Finn Hudson: **_I'm so tired of people thinking they know her when they don't. They don't know her like I know her. I'm just so tired of it._

**-Quinn Fabray: **_So take a nap, Finn, because I'M so tired of you bitching about things that you no longer have a right to bitch about. I'm just so tired of it._

* * *

**Finn Hudson: **_Apparently you can't have a lesbian for a roommate without her thinking that she can date you._

**-Quinn Fabray: **_You have a lesbian for a roommate? Oh wait, *rolls eyes*, you're still going on about the same damn thing you've been on about now for two weeks. Apparently, you can't break up with a stupid boy without him whining like a baby about it for months._

Oh god. I could hardly breathe when I read that one. Fucking hilarious. Quinn's sarcasm had always been one of her best qualities. So damn perfect.

Oh, and really? As if that wasn't the most obvious status in the history of the universe. Way to be smooth and subtle there, Finnadequate.

* * *

And then I got to Finn's latest status, posted only five minutes ago. Rachel was napping, so I was in the kitchen playing games on my laptop to kill time. When my phone beeped to notify me that Finn had updated his status, I opened my Facebook, and I couldn't fucking believe what I was reading.

**Finn Hudson: **_She just wants to date her. She doesn't even respect the fact that she's actually been through something really terrible. She's just trying to get in her pants._

**-Quinn Fabray: **_You did not seriously just write that, did you? _

**-Kurt Hummel: **_Finn Hudson, you take that back right this second, or must I remind you that it is actually YOU who has failed to respect her and the fact that she has been through something terrible. You are a horrible person right now, Finn. Sweet Barbra, I can't even look at this anymore! _

**-Santana *Snix* Lopez: **_OH HELLS TO THE NO, FINNESSA! All you've been doing is whining about yourself and your own feelings for weeks and you haven't given a fuck about her, not to mention that you're putting all her personal business on blast all over Facebook. You are a pathetic fucking loser, and I seriously can't believe you'd sink low enough to say some shit like that._

**-Quinn Fabray: **_You really need to grow up, Finn. I'm disappointed in you._

**-Mercedes Jones: **_What in the hell are y'all talkin' about?_

**-Santana *Snix* Lopez: **_You should probably sleep with one eye open, Tubs Hudson. _

Before anyone else could blow up on him about it, though, the status disappeared and was replaced with a short message that read as follows:

**-This status has been deleted by the author-**

Well, at least the idiot made one smart decision. I didn't really give a fuck, though, because my blood was boiling in my veins. How dare he have the audacity to say something like that, to suggest that I didn't respect what Rachel had been through and was just trying to hook up with her. That was utter shit. I had more respect for what Rachel had been through than ANYONE. I'd gone through it _with her_, and Finn…well, he didn't know shit. He couldn't even respect Rachel enough not to go spreading her business all over Facebook. I swear I would've given anything in that moment to plant my fist in his fat face.

But then my phone beeped again, and what I read changed _everything_.

I re-opened my Facebook app to see that Rachel had updated her own status just seconds after Finn had deleted his, which meant that she'd woken up and probably read what Finnability had written. Assuming as much, I was nervous as hell to read what she'd written, and my nerves only intensified when my notifications box informed me that Rachel had actually tagged me in her new status.

My heart slammed into my ribcage, my breath hitched in my throat, and my entire fucking body just started buzzing as I clicked on her profile page and read.

**Rachel Barbra Berry: **_loves __**Santana *Snix* Lopez.**_


	18. Chapter 18: Quiet Confessions

**Chapter Eighteen: Quiet Confessions**

I stared at Rachel's status for a good ten minutes, just blinking rapidly as my jaw smacked into my chest. What the hell did she mean by that? Did she mean that she loved me as a friend? Was she just trying to make a point to get Finn and all of us to stop with the Facebook war? Or did she actually mean it…that she loved me, that she LOVE loved me? My head was just a fucking mess as I tried to wrap my brain around the possibilities, and though my more logical side practically screamed at me not to get my hopes up because she had to have meant it in a purely platonic way, my heart had quite a different idea.

It beat so forcefully in my chest in that moment that it was almost painful. My pulse was like a freaking rap song in my ears, bumping so loudly that I could feel its rhythm vibrating through my entire body. I so desperately wanted to run into that bedroom and ask Rachel what she meant when she wrote that status, but at the same time, I was completely terrified that she might say she hadn't meant it the way that I wanted her to; the way that _I_ meant it.

It took me a few minutes to work up the courage to leave the safe solitude of the kitchen and go to the bedroom, but I knew I had to go, because I knew Rachel was awake and wouldn't want to be stuck in bed all day. She'd need my help. So, I sucked in a deep, steadying breath, shook out my hands which were disgustingly slick with sweat (fucking nerves), and went inside.

Rachel was still laying down when I walked into the room, and her face was lit by the glow of her cell-phone screen as she read messages I couldn't see. I cleared my throat as I entered to let her know that I was there, and her head instantly popped up so that she could see me. She gave me a bright, beautiful smile, and though I tried, I couldn't return it. I absolutely fucking LOATHED being nervous about anything, but here I was feeling like I was going to throw up and scream and run all at the same time and all because of one surprising, pint-sized, complex, beautiful girl.

"Hi," she said softly as she smiled at me.

"Hi," I barely managed to choke out and thanked whatever god might be listening that I didn't blow chunks everywhere when I did.

She patted the bed beside her and I quickly wiped my sweaty palms dry on my sweatpants before climbing in. I slipped under the massive comforter until I was snuggled up against her and our faces were only a few inches apart on her pillow. I watched as she took a deep breath through her nose and then she let out a small moan, and I nearly exploded right there in the bed. I had to clench my thighs together, because that sound coming from Rachel Berry's throat was like a damn vocal orgasm.

"You smell wonderful," she said as the moan faded and she leaned in a bit closer to smell me again.

"Uh…thanks," I whispered, because I was afraid if I spoke any louder, my voice would give away just how nervous I was…or excited…or aroused…or nauseous. Hell, I didn't even know what I was. I suppose it was more like all of the above. "I stole some of Kurt's shampoo."

She laughed softly and it came out in a warm, breathy whisper, which forced me to clench my thighs tightly again. "Well, don't tell Kurt, but I think it smells better on you," she said with another gentle smile.

It's strange the way things can change so drastically with one simple realization. Rachel used to smile all the time. I'd seen nearly every form of her gold-star grin, but after I realized the depth of my feelings for her, those grins became so much more. They changed. They became the only smiles that mattered, the only ones I ever really cared to see or especially, to cause. They touched me…everywhere. They made my heart race and my head spin. They made my spine tingle and my skin prickle in the best way. They meant more to me than I ever would have imagined. _Rachel_ meant more to me than I ever would have imagined. And it changed everything.

"Rach…" I let out in a sigh, terrified of what I was about to do, but I had to know. "Your Facebook status—"

She didn't let me finish, immediately cutting in and saying, "I'm sorry. Is it okay that I tagged you?"

"Y-yeah," I said, not expecting that to be the first words out of her mouth, especially considering that she didn't even try to say that it meant nothing or play it off like a joke. "I just…I mean, you know that a bunch of people are going to take it a certain way, right?"

She grinned at me again and there went those fucking butterflies (which felt more like huge-ass moths). They fluttered madly in my stomach, and made my cheeks blush against my will. "Oh, I know," she said. "It seems that many of them already have." She then turned her phone to show me her Facebook page, and I was shocked at how many comments she'd already gotten on the status. I grabbed the phone from her and began scrolling through them, my chest tightening, a lump forming in my throat, and my cheeks growing redder by the second.

**Rachel Barbra Berry:** _loves _**_Santana *Snix* Lopez__._**

-**Finn Hudson:** _What? What the hell does this mean, Rachel?_

-**Kurt Hummel:** _Oh my Barbra! I knew it! I KNEW it!_

-**Mercedes Jones:** _Okay, hold up! Is this for real? Are you and Santana like…lesbifriends now or something?_

-**Quinn Fabray:** _I am smiling like an idiot right now. So happy._

-**Finn Hudson:** _You can't be serious. This is a joke, right Rach? _

-**Brittany S. Pierce:** _Yay!_

-**Tina Cohen-Chang:** _I am so confused._

-**Finn Hudson:** _You guys, she didn't mean it that way. Rachel's not gay. She meant like as a friend or whatever. Right Rach?_

-**Finn Hudson:** _Rachel?_

I couldn't help but laugh a bit at Finn's Facebook panic attack as I handed the phone back to Rachel, but it did little to ease my nerves. "I think you gave Finnocence a heart attack," I said, trying to lighten the moment, because on the inside, my entire body felt like it was made of glass and might shatter at any minute; most likely the minute Rachel admitted that it was only a joke or that she'd only meant it as a friend.

"Yes, he does seem rather distraught," Rachel said with an adorable giggle, "but quite honestly, he deserves to be. I didn't appreciate the awful implications he was making about you, Santana, nor did I appreciate his obvious lack of respect for my personal business."

"Truth," I said, nodding. I closed my eyes tightly for a moment. I needed to steady myself and calm my heart, because I needed courage for what I was about to do. I hated serious conversations, but I really needed to have this one with Rachel. I needed her to know that I would never disrespect her like Finn had suggested in his many idiotic statuses, and I also needed to know more about Rachel's own status.

"Rach, you know that those things Finn said in his statuses…you know they're not true, right?" I asked in a cracked whisper. "I'm not trying to get in your pants or anything like what he said. I wouldn't…I couldn't disrespect you like that, especially after everything that's happened. I just…I need for you to know that you _are _important to me. You've pretty much become my best friend, and I just wanted you to know. I mean…you do _know_, right? You know that you're important to me?"

Ah shit. I knew I was going to fucking cry. I could feel my damn eyes stinging and burning, and though I tried my best to keep the tears at bay, I felt at least one slip out and run over the bridge of my nose.

"Oh Santana," Rachel whispered sweetly as she reached out and gently wiped the tear away, "I know. I know how much you care about me. You saved my life, and you have been with me every step of the way since, even on my worst days. Trust me, I know, and everything you have done for me and continue to do for me means more to me than I could ever express."

She cupped her small hand around my cheek and stroked her thumb over fresh tears as they fell, because I just couldn't stop them at this point. "You are important to me, too," she continued softly. "Sometimes…sometimes you feel like the most important person in my life."

I swallowed thickly and the lump in my throat went down like fire as I whispered, "It's like that for me too."

Rachel smiled softly at me again before she slid her hand from my cheek, and unexpectedly down my arm. She trailed her fingers down my forearm beneath the covers until she found my hand and laced our fingers together. "You are so much more than I ever thought," she told me, her beautiful brown eyes shining at me as they grew tearful. "I wish I could have known this side of you sooner. I wish things could have been different between us in high school."

"I'm sorry," I choked out, regret building in my chest and aching in my lungs. "I'm sorry I never gave you a chance. I was so…so mean to you and you only ever tried to be my friend. I was a terrible person to you, Rachel, and I wish I could take it back. I wish every day that I could take it back. I wish..."

"Me too," she said gently, squeezing my hand tightly and scooting even closer to me so that our noses were nearly brushing as we shared the same pillow and quietly cried together.

We lay there together in silence for a long time after that, just staring into one another and holding hands in the small space between our bodies. My heart was like a ballad in my chest, its rhythm building and building with every passing second that Rachel looked into my eyes. It was like she was reaching for my soul, and god…I just…I wanted to give it to her. I wanted to pour it all out right there in that moment and just hope for the best, but there was too much stopping me.

And then Rachel said something that shook and tested my control like nothing ever had.

"Santana…" she whispered. She hesitated for only a moment, her eyes briefly showing whatever internal conflict she was having, before she locked gazes with me again and said, "I feel so many things when I'm with you."

My skin was fucking electric in that moment, because every inch of me just came alive as Rachel's words washed over to me. I wanted so many things right then. I wanted to tell her that I felt so much more than I could handle when I was with her. I wanted to tell her that I loved her. I wanted to grab her and kiss her and hold onto her for the rest of my goddamn life. I just…I _wanted _Rachel.

"I think of you," she told me quietly. "I think of you nearly every minute. It's like I can't get you out of my head."

I gulped audibly, which was notably embarrassing, but I just pushed aside my mortification and asked, "What do you think? I mean, when you think of me…what do you think?"

She seemed nervous then, which surprised me, because Rachel was always so sure when she spoke. She was always so confident in her emotions and in her vocalization of those emotions, so to see her nervous about telling me her thoughts only made me more nervous myself. But when she did finally tell me, my heart shot right out of my chest and soared.

"I think you're beautiful," she whispered shakily. I closed my eyes tightly at that and sucked in a breath. Rachel only squeezed my hand and continued. "I think you're soft, the way you feel against me when we lay together like this. I think you're so much more than you show the world. I think _you _are _so _special, Santana."

"Rachel…" I breathed out, and she squeezed my hand tightly again, but she didn't stop talking, and I realized in that moment that regardless of the anxiety in my chest and the rapid rhythm of my pulse, I didn't want her to. I wanted to hear it all, everything. I needed her love like I needed air, and I just wanted to hear it over and over, if she was willing to offer it.

"Ever since the attack, I've been so lost," she told me, and I couldn't help the tears that fell down my cheeks, because I knew how lost she'd been and how broken she felt. She cried as she spoke, and so did I, but I kept squeezing her hand and listened to every word. "I just feel so…so terrified _all of the time. _I feel so broken and so ugly and so worthless. I feel dirty. I feel _so_ dirty, like I can never be clean again. I can still feel him all over me and inside me, and it makes my skin crawl. I feel ruined."

"Rachel, please…" I whimpered, but again, she didn't stop. It was like she couldn't. She needed to get all of this out and as difficult as this part was for me to hear, I knew it was more difficult for her to talk about, and so I tried to be strong for her. I tried to be anything and everything she needed in that moment.

"But with you, it hurts less," she whispered through her tears as she squeezed my hand so tightly that it hurt. "When you look at me, I don't feel ugly. I don't feel dirty or broken or ruined. I feel like me again. When you hold me, I feel special and precious and like I'm worth something again. When you hold me, Santana, I feel so…so _safe_."

I was a sobbing mess in that moment, and my heart was exploding in my chest. To know that I had done all of that for Rachel, that I was able to help her and make her feel like herself again…well, that was just _everything_.

"But those feelings also scare me," Rachel continued, and my anxiety instantly rekindled. "They scare me because I am _me_, and you are _you_."

"What do you mean?" I asked through my tears.

Rachel smiled sadly at me then and said, "You're _Santana Lopez_—the popular, sexy, experienced cheerleader that everyone always wanted and still wants. And I'm me, just Rachel Berry. I'm nothing—a loser, a freak, a slushy target, a…a victim. How could you ever, _ever—_"

"Rachel," I choked out in a broken sob, cutting her off as tears spilled down my cheeks.

And then I moved. I stopped fighting my heart as I closed the gap between us and pressed my lips gently to hers.


	19. Chapter 19: Kissing Rachel Berry

**Chapter Nineteen: Kissing Rachel Berry**

Rachel Berry's lips were heaven. Seriously. They were soft and plump and felt like fucking pillows that I just wanted to dive-bomb into and roll around in. She lifted a hand to my cheek as I pressed our lips together. She gasped into my mouth and let out a soft whimper of surprise that I felt spill straight into my heart, not to mention the way it practically erupted in my lady parts. I could have died inside that one, simple kiss, which absolutely blew my mind. I had kissed so many people that I couldn't even give you a number, maybe a rough estimate, but I'd never once felt this way, not even with Brittany.

Brittany's kisses had always made me feel warm and tingly and comfortable, but Rachel's kisses? Rachel's kisses made me feel weightless, like I was floating or flying. Every single inch of my body erupted in tingles that prickled deliciously in the base of my spine and on my fingertips as I slipped my hand over Rachel's hip to her lower back and carefully pulled her body closer to mine. I expected her to pull back, to stop the kiss, but Rachel completely and wonderfully surprised me.

She didn't pull back and she made no attempts to stop. Instead, she only pushed further against me. Our bodies were flush as she wrapped the hand she'd had on my cheek around the back of my neck and urged me forward. She kissed me softly but eagerly, gently but demanding…her kisses were the perfect balance of everything, and they made those damn moths in my stomach evolve into fucking birds and crash into every corner of my insides. God, I could do this forever.

It's crazy the things that will go through your mind even when you're wrapped up in a moment. Like though my head was fuzzy from the overwhelming sensation of finally getting something I'd wanted for a while now, my thoughts were still a wild, chaotic mess in my mind. They fired off rapidly as I pressed my lips to Rachel's over and over, reveling in the feel of her perfect mouth on mine and the soft, sexy sounds emanating from her throat as we kissed.

_Why didn't I do this sooner? Why didn't I do this in high school? Oh yeah, because I was too busy being a closeted, repressed asshole, AND because Rachel wore unicorn sweaters. Oh my god, I'm so fucking happy I moved to New York. Oh my god, I'm so fucking happy that I moved into RACHEL'S loft in New York. Fuck, her lips are soft. I wonder what they'd feel like in other places. Oh god, stop it Santana before you wet yourself. Too late. Jesus Christ, I just want to touch her. I want to touch her everywhere. I want to kiss her everywhere. Oh fuck, her fingers are in my hair. Wait, did I just feel tongue?! Where in the hell did she learn to kiss like this, because I knoooows that she did not gain this kind of skill from Finn Hudson, or from Puck for that matter, because both of those idiots kissed like they thought your face was food and they had been starved their whole lives. Gross. But Rachel…wow. She is incredible, and she hasn't even opened her mouth yet! Maybe it's the singing thing. Great with her mouth in every capacity. Shit, there I go again, flooding myself. God, I could do this forever. I freaking love Rachel Barbra Berry! I love her. I love her. I do. I SO do. I mean, I don't even care who knows. I just love her._

Yup, that was pretty much how my mind took to the kissing-Rachel-Berry experience. But then I felt Rachel's tongue slowly swipe across my bottom lip as if asking for entry, and my brain just fucking short-circuited, melted, and then oozed right out of my ears. Chaotic thoughts weren't a problem after that, because the only thing that I could process, the only thing that I _knew_ was Rachel's tongue and how it might actually want to like…be inside my mouth.

I cautiously, because I wasn't positive that I was reading the signals correctly, opened my mouth just a bit as she pressed her lips to mine again, and sure enough, Rachel's tongue slipped skillfully through my lips and into my mouth. I couldn't hold back the moan that rumbled in my chest and ripped up my throat. It vibrated against Rachel's tongue as she slid it along mine and explored my mouth, and an echoing moan escaped her in answer.

I tilted my head upward so that I could get a better angle, and Rachel took advantage of the new angle before I even had a chance. She practically dove into my mouth, her tongue darting in and out rhythmically, which was entirely too reminiscent of another similar action (performed in a much lower region of the body) for me to be able to avoid moaning again. As soon as she did that, my freaking lady loins vibrated so hard that I was surprised the sensation wasn't accompanied by a loud buzzing sound, like a damn iPhone on a kitchen table. Rachel's kisses were just doing things to my body that I could hardly process, let alone contain. I did my best, though, because I knew that kissing was the only thing that was going to happen between us for a long time, and I was honestly still shocked that we were kissing at all. I certainly wasn't going to push for more. I respected Rachel way too much for that.

But then Rachel slid her hands down my sides before latching onto my hips and jerking me toward her. She pulled me over and on top of her, and for only a second, I let her, before the haze cleared from my mind and I instantly jumped back. I broke our heated kiss and lifted my body weight up and off of her so that I was hovering just above her, braced by my knees as well as my hands now planted on either side of Rachel's head. She looked up at me with those big, wide, and endlessly beautiful chocolate eyes, which made my chest clench tightly, and when she smiled softly at me, every part of me just flooded with love and with arousal.

I clamped my eyes tightly shut and took several deep breaths to calm my body's reaction and bite back my serious need to have Rachel Berry right then and there, before I slowly slid back to the side and rolled onto my back in the place where I had only just lain. I let out a heavy sigh and shakily said, "Rachel, no. We can't. I can't."

"Oh," I heard her say softly, her voice ripe with sorrow, which immediately got my attention.

I turned quickly onto my side to face her, but she was staring in the opposite direction, looking at the wall. I gently reached over and turned her face back to me and saw that tears had built in her gorgeous eyes and were already beginning their slow treks down her cheeks. "Hey," I whispered. "Rachel, please don't cry."

She tried to manage a smile through her tears, but it only made her cry harder. Her eyes were wide and I couldn't understand how she had grown so upset so quickly, but then she said, "It's okay, Santana. I understand. I didn't think you could actually ever want me anyway."

And it all hit me. It was like she'd said before; since her attack, she felt ugly and dirty and as such, she probably assumed herself undesirable, and I instantly felt like shit. That wasn't at all why I'd stopped, but being the dumbass that I often am, I hadn't even thought about explaining or how to word myself. I was too caught up in trying to calm myself down. Fuck.

"What? Rachel, _no_," I said quickly, terrified that I had accidentally pushed her away or back into the dark place or something. "That isn't why I stopped at all. I want you, okay? I _definitely _want you. Trust me."

She attempted another sad smile as she quietly cried and said, "Please don't. I know you think I'm fragile and I know that you care about me, but please, I would rather you not lie to me. I can handle the truth, Santana."

My panic was building at this point. I should've known it wouldn't be easy. I couldn't handle that sorrow in her eyes, that disappointment and self-loathing. It broke every part of me. It was painful beyond words or measure.

"Rachel, I swear to you that I am not lying," I told her, trying to enunciate every word so that she would know I was serious, but Rachel wasn't just upset. She was more insecure in the last month than she had ever been in her entire life, and she just couldn't hear my sincerity. She couldn't believe that I, or anyone, would ever want her again. She turned her head to face the wall again and I saw the way she shook her head subtly as if to deny my claim. It broke my fucking heart all over again.

So, I did something that surprised even me, but I was desperate. I needed her to understand that she was desirable. She was more than desirable to me. She was the only thing I ever thought about and the only person that I wanted, and fuck did I want her. I wanted her so badly that it was driving me mental. "You don't believe me?" I challenged. "What if I can prove it?"

She turned to look at me then, her cheeks still wet and eyes still wide and tearful, and her brows furrowed in confusion. "How?" she asked me, her voice scratchy from crying.

I swallowed thickly then, because well…what the hell had I just gotten myself into? But whatever, because I seriously wasn't about to back down. Rachel needed this. She needed to know that she wasn't ugly or dirty or anything less than perfect. She needed to know that what I felt for her was real, so I bit my lip and mumbled out, "Well…uh, it might gross you out, but it's the only way I know how to prove it."

She only looked further confused at that, so I just rolled my eyes and quickly ran my right hand under the covers, under the waistband of my pants and panties, and slid my index and middle fingers through my thoroughly soaked sex. The sheer magnitude of my arousal was shocking, though I wasn't sure why, considering that I had been fully aware of the way my body had felt on the verge of exploding while I was making out with Rachel. But to actually feel the evidence…whoa. And yeah, I couldn't help but moan a bit as I touched myself. It just sort of happened against my will, and as a result, I could practically feel my cheeks turning crimson with my embarrassment.

I pulled my hand out of my sweatpants and brought it out from under the covers. Out of embarrassment, I wanted to avoid eye contact with Rachel, but at the same time I really wanted to see her reaction. I wanted to make sure that she fully understood that I wanted her, more than words were ever going to let me say. "See?" I said as I held my two glistening fingers up for her to see.

I watched as she took in the sight of the arousal coating my fingers, her eyes widening and her lips parting just slightly. She swallowed audibly before she whispered, "Wow."

"Uh, yeah, wow," I teased, nudging her with my free hand and laughing softly. "Don't brag about it or anything, geez."

"No one has ever turned me on that much, and especially not from just kissing," I told her honestly.

She turned to me then, wiped her cheeks clean of tears, and then playfully arched a brow. "_No one_?" she questioned.

"Well, unless you count Shakira," I answered, "but hey, her hips don't lie. What are ya gonna do, right?"

Rachel burst into laughter then and I felt it everywhere. It blasted into me, rippled across my flesh, and sank straight to my soul. She smiled brightly at me and I just couldn't help myself. I leaned in and gently pressed my lips to hers before saying, "Please don't ever doubt how much I want you, Rachel. As you can see, it's a lot, and it has been for a long time."

I then climbed quickly out of the bed and darted to the bathroom. I washed my hands so that I wasn't just sitting there with my own damn lady juices all over my fingers while attempting to have a serious and heartfelt discussion with the girl I loved. That would just be awkward, and I definitely wasn't about to wipe it all over the blankets, because that would be even more awkward…not to mention gross.

As soon as I was done, I crawled back into bed with Rachel and before she could even say anything, I leaned forward and playfully planted about a dozen little pecking kisses all over her face. I just wanted to hear her laugh again. With the sorrow that constantly decorated our lives over the last month, every little ounce of joy was like pure bliss. And Rachel's laugh? Hell, it had become like a drug for me. I craved it all the time.

She giggled adorably as I kissed all over her face and then I planted one final kiss on her lips, to which she responded eagerly. When I pulled back, she smiled brightly at me again and said, "By the way, Santana, I didn't think it was gross."

"No?" I asked, a little surprised. I was pretty sure that Rachel had never been with a chick before; then again, she might be one of those girls that masturbates constantly. Oh hell, stop it, Santana. Seriously. Stop it.

"No, quite the opposite," she answered, and I literally groaned. I couldn't help myself. I tossed the cover over my head and groaned again even as I heard Rachel burst into laughter once more. She pulled the blanket off of my head and smiled at me before her face grew serious again and she asked, "So, why _did_ you stop?"

I sighed as I fell heavily back into the mattress, and I was thrilled when Rachel instantly curled into my side and rested her head on my chest, almost as if it were an instinct. I kissed the top of her head and explained. "I just think it's too soon in too many ways," I told her as I ran my hands up and down her back and arms. "You still have pain from your ribs and the stab wounds, and that's just the physical part of it. I mean…Rachel, you were attacked…_sexually_. I just want you to be _really_ ready before you have sex again. I don't want you to do just because you want to feel good or because you want to take your mind of what happened or because you feel safe enough with me to try, even though I love that you do feel safe with me. I just want you to feel _ready _and to really, actually want to do it. It's only been a little over three weeks. I just don't think you're there yet, Rachel. Do you?"

Rachel was silent for a long time after that, her fingers absentmindedly playing with the material of my shirt as her head lay against my chest. I hated bringing up the attack, but I didn't know how else to explain why we couldn't have sex. I didn't…ugh. I hate emotional shit! I'm so bad at it.

"No," she finally whispered after a long while. She then turned her head inward and pressed a kiss to my chest before saying, "Thank you for being so wonderful, Santana."

"All day, every day," I said with a laugh as I grabbed her hand and laced our fingers together. And then against my better judgment, because I was feeling stupidly lovey and vulnerable, I let my own insecurities show. "Besides, we don't even really know what this is or what we are yet. I mean…maybe when you _are _finally ready to have sex again, you won't actually want it to be with me. Maybe you just want me now because I'm the only person you've really been around for a while and because I…saved your life or whatever."

She lifted up just enough so that she could lock eyes with me then, and I had to choke back my own tears because suddenly all of my deepest fears were swirling in my gut and making me terrified to even breathe. What if I woke up and realized that this whole fucking day had been a dream? I felt sick with my own anxiety, and I hated it.

Rachel stared into me as if she was searching for my soul and asked, "Do you have feelings for me, Santana? I know you care about me and obviously, given your earlier display, you find me attractive, but do you have _true_ feelings for me? Romantic feelings?"

I didn't even hesitate to blurt out, "Yes."

She smiled softly at me then and said, "I have feelings for you as well."

"How big?" I asked her, and she furrowed her brows at me and let out a soft chuckle.

"What do you mean 'how big'?" she asked.

"I mean, how big are your feelings?" I clarified and she laughed softly at me again, which was a beautiful sound but I nearly had to grit my teeth, because I was being beyond serious. I was fucking terrified that I was the only one with giant, massive, world-sized feelings, and here she was laughing all cute-like and shit, while I was having an internal panic attack. Go figure.

"Quite large," she finally said, grinning at me as she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the tip of my chin. "How big are yours?"

"So big it's stupid," I told her, and then realizing what I'd said, we both burst into laughter.

"That big, huh?" she teased, and I just nodded my head before capturing her lips with my own again, and I couldn't help but have another of those _whoa_ moments of realization. Kissing Rachel Berry…yup, me, Santana Lopez, kissing Rachel Berry. It was absolutely nuts when you considered our history, but at the same time, nothing in my entire life had ever felt more right, and it was in that moment that I knew I would _always_ want to kiss her. I would always want to be with her, because Rachel was my home.

And then the shrill tone of Rachel's phone ringing sounded through the room and burst right through the precious little moment we were having. Even though I'd found her phone in the alley that night and it was well intact, Rachel didn't want it. It reminded her of the attack somehow, and though I never said anything, I was grateful that Rachel's dads had gotten her a new phone, because the old one reminded me of the attack as well. It rang the second night that we were home from the hospital when Quinn called to check in with Rachel, and as soon as "Don't Rain On My Parade" echoed through the room, I instantly flashed back to that night and terror just exploded through my chest. It flooded through me like a tidal wave and I had to run out of the room and barricade myself in the bathroom, panicked and panting and having a freaking meltdown. So, yeah…I was glad that they'd gotten her a new one, one that didn't look anything like the last, and thankfully Rachel had a different ringtone now—just a standard ring. I was sure she'd change it at some point, but it seemed that, as of now, she didn't really care enough to mess with it.

Rachel tilted up to press another kiss to my lips as she grinned at me before reaching for her phone. She didn't even look at the screen before she pressed the answer button and put it up to her ear. "Rachel Berry's phone," she chimed as she rested her chin on my chest and locked gazes with me, "Rachel Berry speaking."

I rolled my eyes at the way she answered her phone, but at the same time, I couldn't help but laugh and find it ridiculously adorable because well…it was just _so _Rachel. But then my laughter instantly died in my throat as Rachel's head jerked up off of my chest and her eyes went wide. Fear instantly pooled in my gut, but before I could say or ask anything, Rachel's eyelids fluttered and those chocolate pools rolled back in her head. Her phone slipped from her grip and fell into my chest as Rachel fainted, her body limply falling just to the side of mine.

I fucking panicked. I scrambled to get out from under the part of Rachel's body that was covering mine so that I could tend to her or fucking call an ambulance or something, because I had no damn clue what was going on. As I moved, Rachel's phone slipped up and fell beside my ear and that's when I realized that her call was still connected.

"Miss Berry?" I heard a familiar voice asking. "Rachel, are you alright? Are you still there?"

I grabbed the phone and quickly put it to my ear as I realized why I recognized the voice. "Detective?" I asked shakily. "It's Santana."

"Oh, Santana, hello," the detective said, sounding somewhat relieved. "Is Rachel alright?"

"She fainted," I said, fear ripping through my insides and making me panic. "What the hell did you say to her?"

And the words that she said next completely and utterly shook my world. "I told her that she needs to come in for a line-up," the detective said. "We got him, Santana."


	20. Chapter 20: The Road to Justice

**A/N: Apologies for the longer wait for this chapter, friends. I've got a lot going on right now, and I just got a bit behind. I hope you all will enjoy this chapter, though, and the next few that follow will be very emotional. Just a warning! XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Twenty: The Road to Justice**

I pulled the wheelchair out of the trunk of the taxi before carefully helping Rachel out of the backseat and into the chair. After I paid the cabbie, I pushed Rachel up to the front door of the building and over to the side. I dropped the lock on the wheels before walking around and crouching down in front of her. We locked gazes as I laid my arms across her lap and laced my fingers through hers.

"Are you ready to do this?" I asked her softly, because I wasn't going to take her into that building unless she was really ready. If she needed me to sit here in the cold with her for a fucking hour or longer, I would do that. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that Rachel was okay and that we did anything and everything we could to keep her from falling back into the dark place, and I knew that if there was anything that could instantly send her tumbling back there, it was this—having to possibly see her attacker, hear his voice.

I'd told the detective that I would have Rachel into the station within the hour, not because I was trying to rush her, but because I wanted this shit to be over with. I didn't want to have think about the possibility of that bastard being out on the streets any longer, possibly stalking other girls, laughing about getting away with what he did to Rachel. I didn't want Rachel to have to think about that either. I didn't want her to have to worry that he might ever find her again. I didn't want her to have to worry at all. But most of all, I wanted justice, and Rachel _deserved _justice for the horror that that piece of shit put her through.

Rachel's deep, chocolate eyes were wide as she stared into me. She wasn't crying, which surprised me, because I figured she'd be a complete wreck by now, but honestly…she was sort of starting to freak me out. It was like she was in shock, because she hadn't said a single word since I'd shaken her awake after she passed out on me. She didn't say anything when I confirmed what she'd heard or when I told her that I was taking her into the station right then so that we could get everything over with. She just stared at me, and that's exactly what she continued to do as I waited for an answer that I was starting to think I wasn't actually going to get.

"We can wait if you're not ready," I whispered to her as I stroked her palms with my thumbs.

She seemed to finally come back to reality then as she shook her head quickly like she was trying to shake away her thoughts. "I'm scared," she told me quietly and my chest grew tight as the words escaped her in a whimper. Her bottom lip began to tremble, and the tears she'd been holding back began to build in her widened eyes.

"Me too," I told her honestly as I squeezed her hands, "but hey, maybe this will help. Maybe putting this guy away will help us both to move on."

Rachel took several short, shallow breaths as she stared into my eyes, and for a minute I was afraid that she might hyperventilate, but then her breathing evened out as she closed her eyes and squeezed my hands tightly. "Okay," she whispered as she opened her eyes and locked gazes with me again.

"Okay?" I reiterated, because I just wanted her to be sure.

She nodded and did her best to give me a small smile, which I instantly returned. I pulled myself up off the ground and leaned forward to press my lips gently to her forehead. "Okay then," I said as I unlocked her wheelchair. I ran a hand through her hair and squeezed her shoulder before I turned the chair and pushed her into the building, hoping with every cell in my body that today was the day we could put all of this to rest once and for all.

* * *

We were taken to the same interview room we'd been in the day Rachel gave her detailed account of the attack. Just being in there gave me chills, because every single time I glanced up at the two-way glass, my stomach just bottomed out. My mind would immediately flash back to that day, back to me spilling my stomach into a trashcan and banging on that fucking glass like my life depended on it as I listened to Rachel sob and stutter through the details of the worst experience of her life.

My fingers were laced through Rachel's and locked tightly, our joined hands resting in her lap as I sat beside her at the table and waited for the detective to come in. I didn't really have a clue what all Rachel had to actually do. Surely they wouldn't make her interact with the guy or see him face-to-face. The lady had mentioned a line-up, but I was pretty sure from all the TV shows I'd watched that that was done from behind a two-way glass much like the one that was currently making me nauseous with memories. Yeah, I watched a lot of Law & Order, the original and the SVU edition. I mean, hello…have you seen the lady cops on those shows? _Damn. _It was like a crime against all lesbian-kind to NOT watch that shit.

The door suddenly opened, knocking me from my thoughts, and Rachel squeezed my hand to the point of pain as the detective briskly entered. She smiled and shook both of our hands before dropping down into the chair on the other side of the table. "How are we feeling?" she asked as she placed a few files on the table.

"We're okay," I answered, because Rachel looked like she might blow chunks everywhere if she even attempted to open her mouth and speak. Her face was pale and her bottom lip was trembling again. I hated it. I just wanted to retreat back to the safe little world we'd been in earlier, back to the bed, back to the kissing, back to…just being us.

"Good," the detective said as she smiled at us. "So, let's get down to it, shall we?"

Rachel and I both nodded in answer, and I didn't know about her but I felt so freaking awkward and uncomfortable and freaked out and just everything in-between. It was one of those moments when though you know that you are actually an adult, you feel like a child, like your parents should be there taking care of whatever needed to be taken care of. I hated that feeling. I hated feeling small, but that's exactly how I felt in that moment, and if _I _felt small, then I couldn't even begin to imagine how Rachel felt.

"First of all, I want you both to know that this _IS _the guy. We caught him when we got a hit on your credit card, Rachel," she said as she focused all of her attention on Rachel. "He used it to book a room at a small motel just outside the city. We recovered a switchblade that was actually on his person. We've had it tested for DNA, and there were traces of blood found on the blade that were, in fact, a positive match for yours."

Holy shit. This was happening. This was really happening. They got the guy. I mean, they _actually _fucking got him. My heart was hammering in my chest like it was trying to get out and a million emotions all struck me at once. I was relieved, of course, and I was ecstatic that we were going to be able to put that piece of shit away like he deserved, but I was also furious. I just couldn't believe the audacity of the man—carrying around the knife he'd stabbed Rachel nearly to death with while casually using her credit card to book motel rooms. It was like he didn't have a care in the world, like he was almost cocky about it, and that just fucking set my teeth on edge.

"We had enough evidence with DNA found on the knife and the possession of the credit card to be granted a subpoena for his own DNA, and it was also a positive match for the seminal fluid from the rape kit," she continued, and my head was just spinning. I glanced over at Rachel and her face was still white as a sheet and her hand was gripping mine so tightly that my fingers had gone entirely numb.

"So, then why does she have to do this line-up or whatever?" I asked her, because it sounded to me like they had a damn slam dunk. Any jury or judge or whoever that let a guy off with that much evidence mounted against him would have to be a fucking clueless idiot.

"It's standard procedure whenever the victim has seen their attacker's face or distinctly heard his voice," the detective answered matter-of-factly. "We certainly shouldn't _need _the line-up identification to secure a conviction, but rape cases can be difficult. So, we live on the philosophy of the more solid your case is, the better, even if you have one piece of evidence that could win the case on its own. Think of it this way: the more evidence you stack against this guy, the less likely he will be able to claim anything other than guilt, not to mention the less likely that any judge or jury would deem him innocent."

"So, Rachel just has to identify this guy's voice, and then that will be the end of it?" I asked her.

"That's what we're hoping for," she said, nodding, "and as long as we're not dragged to court, then yes. That should be the end of it. We will be going for several different charges, all of them with potential for a large sentence if convicted, and we're hopeful, if not confident, that he _will _be convicted in full on all counts."

"Okay…um…" I mumbled, because my thoughts were on overload in the moment and I felt like I was in way over my head. It all seemed simple enough, but I didn't want anything to go wrong, just because I didn't know anything about what was going on. "Can I just have a minute? I need to make a call before we do this."

"Absolutely," she said, nodding to me again. "I'll be right outside, and you just let me know when you're ready."

"Okay, thanks," I told her.

As soon as she left the room, I pulled out my cell and speed-dialed Hiram. "Who are you calling?" Rachel asked me quietly, which made me jump because she hadn't really said a word until now and I wasn't expecting her to.

I squeezed her hand and said, "Your dad. I think maybe you should have a lawyer here or something. I just don't want anything to go wrong, okay?"

She nodded gently and whispered, "Thank you," just as the phone clicked in my ear and the familiar voice of Hiram Berry echoed through the line.

"_Hiram Berry speaking," _he said as he answered the call.

"Hiram, it's Santana."

_ "Santana! How are you, dear?" _he asked me kindly, his voice full of affection which made my heart swell in my chest. "_Is everything alright? How is Rachel?"_

"Uh, I'm fine," I told him, my voice a little shaky. "We're fine, me and Rachel. It's just that, well…sorry to spring this on you, but it was kind of just sprung on us as well. They caught the guy…Rachel's attacker."

_ "Oh, sweet Barbra!" _Hiram exclaimed as he gasped, and I couldn't help but smile a bit at that. "_Are they positive they've got the right man?"_

"Yes sir,"I answered. "There's a ton of evidence and DNA matches and stuff, but I need your help. Rachel and I are at the station right now, and they want her to do a voice line-up or whatever to see if she can identify the guy's voice to make the case even stronger, and I was just thinking that like…shouldn't she have a lawyer for that? I've watched a lot of Law & Order, and I'm like 99% sure there should be a lawyer present, right?"

_"Yes, Santana, you are absolutely right," _he told me, and I actually felt a little proud of myself in that moment. Hells yes, Law & Order, bitches. _"There is obviously no chance of me making it up there soon enough, but I did connect with an old friend from law school while Leroy and I were in the city just after the attack. He assured me that he would cover the case for me if I was unable to be there. So, let me just give him a call, sweetheart, and see if he can make it in today. Tell Rachel that I love her so much, and that her father and I will call her later this evening. Okay?"_

"Okay, thanks Hiram," I said sincerely, and then we hung up. I squeezed Rachel's hand as I sat my phone on the table and waited to hear back from her dad. She looked at me with so much emotion in her eyes, and I couldn't help myself. I leaned over and gently pressed my lips to hers. She sighed beautifully into the kiss before resting her forehead against mine and closing her eyes.

And we waited.

* * *

The guy that Hiram had called for us showed up about twenty minutes later. Apparently, he'd only just been down the street at the courthouse, so that was fortunate for us, because I really didn't want to be stuck at the station all day long. He seemed pretty nice, but I didn't like the way he kept looking at Rachel like she was going to break any second. I mean…sympathy was bearable at times, but pity just wasn't. Pity was like a fucking knife to the chest. It made you feel weak, like you had a giant tattoo across your forehead that read _VICTIM. _To me, it was one of the worst feelings, and I just hoped that Rachel hadn't even noticed it, that she was too distracted by everything that was happening to notice that stupid, sad look in his eyes.

The detective told me that I couldn't be in the room with Rachel when she made the identification, because apparently the guy's lawyer could try to say she was influenced or something. I was there, though, when she told Rachel exactly how it was going to go down. Apparently, she'd written down the words that Rachel had told her the guy said during the attack. She said that there would be five different men in the line-up and they would step forward one by one and say the line, and Rachel just had to point out which one sounded like the guy.

At first, I thought…well, that's simple enough, but then that day in the interview room came flooding back to me because I could vividly recall every fucking second of that torture, and I remembered the words that that sick fuck had said to her. _If you try to scream again, I'll kill you. If you fight me, I'll kill you. If you try to run, I'll kill you. Got it? _Dread filled my chest as those words played in my mind on repeat. How in the hell was Rachel going to be okay if she had to listen, again, to the guy who stabbed her and beat her and raped her say the very words he said to her right before he almost took her fucking life? How was she supposed to just bounce back from that? It was hard enough to have to go through something like that once, but to then have to relive it? Where was the justice in that?

I hugged Rachel before they took her in, and she clung to me a lot longer than I'd expected her to. I didn't mind, though. I would've given anything to have been able to go in the room with her. It was like I couldn't bear the thought of being separated from her, and I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing, because I didn't want Rachel to think that _I _thought that she couldn't do anything without me; then again, Rachel wasn't acting much to the contrary, at least not in the month since the attack. I honestly didn't think it had to do with the attack, though. I mean, I knew that we needed each other. We needed each other for comfort and reassurance and that sense of safety that both of us seemed to have otherwise lost since the attack, but I really think it was mostly about my feelings for Rachel. It was about the way my heart sped up and slowed down at the same time whenever she looked at me or touched me or slept tucked into the bend of my body. It was about the way I loved her…the way I loved her like nothing else in the world mattered.

"I'll just be right here," I told her as I kissed her cheek, "waiting for you."

She nodded and I could already see the tears threatening to spill from her eyes as she took soft, panting breaths and forced herself to let go of my hands. They wheeled her away from me, and I plopped heavily down at the detective's desk where the lady told me I could wait, and less than five minutes later, I saw something that completely chilled the blood in my veins.

A shuffling sound caught my attention and I looked up to see a few detectives leading a line of five men toward the room opposite where Rachel was. It was the guys for the line-up, and my heart just plummeted into my stomach because all I could think in that moment was that one of those men was the guy who attacked Rachel, and he wasn't even thirty feet from me.


	21. Chapter 21: I Never Do

**A/N: Just wanted to say thank you to all of you who continue to follow, favorite, and review this story. It truly means more to me than you know, and I am so happy that you all seem to really be enjoying the story.**

**Also, for all of you Quinn fans, she will be making another appearance in the next chapter. Enjoy! XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Twenty-One: I Never Do**

They each passed by me, one-by-one, holding little, white rectangular cards. Each card had a number on it, and there were five cards, five men, in total. None of them seemed to even notice me sitting there, despite the fact that I wasn't that far from them and I _had_ to be glaring hard enough to kill at least one of them. And then the fourth guy passed by me, and just as he did, his head turned and dark eyes locked with mine.

A chill shot straight down my spine and I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, my flesh prickling as he looked right into me. His face was a little scruffy and sagging a bit like maybe he'd lost a lot of weight or something, but it was his eyes that captured me. They were dark…so dark, almost black in color, and it felt like they were boring into my fucking soul.

He smiled at me then. It wasn't a friendly smile like the kind you want to return. It was terrifying. It was slow and sick and boasting, and it made my entire body shudder almost painfully. His beady, black eyes darted up and down my body, and it made me shiver and shudder again. Bile shot up my throat from my stomach and spilled into my mouth. It took everything I had just to swallow it back down as I kept my eyes locked on his, refusing to back down, refusing to show him that I was uncomfortable or rattled, because every single instinct inside me was screaming that this was the guy. This was the guy that violated Rachel. This was the guy that nearly killed her, and I sure as hell wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he creeped me out, of having some sort of power over me.

And then he was gone, disappearing like all the others into the room where Rachel would hopefully be able to identify him as her attacker and then his sick ass would be in prison for the rest of his pathetic, miserable life. And if that _wasn't_ the case, well then I sincerely hoped that I would be able to keep my anger in check so that I didn't end up hunting the guy down myself and getting Rachel's justice Lima-Heights style. With the way I was feeling in that moment, I seriously didn't doubt that I could and would do it. My body was fucking buzzing with fury, but it was also humming with fear and unease. Just the fact that somebody could do that to another person, and not even care, not even be affected by it, made my skin crawl and my heart pound.

I just didn't understand how people could get like that? How do humans become monsters?

I mean, this guy was somebody's child, maybe somebody's brother, or nephew, or uncle, or husband, or even father. A new wave of chills ripped down my spine at that last thought, because lord help the kid being raised by someone as twisted as a man who saw no issue with violently raping a young woman and nearly stabbing her to death before leaving her bleeding and naked in a dark alley. Then again, people could be quite surprising. I'd seen enough cases on Law & Order to know that, a lot of the time, rapists were just regular guys with spouses and children and a typical nine-to-five. They took their kids to the park. They had anniversary dinners with their spouses. They watched sports with the guys, and had barbecues with the neighbors, but secretly enjoyed raping, torturing, or killing people on the side. It was the fucking freakiest thing.

Maybe this guy had a fucked-up childhood. Maybe his parents beat him, or maybe he grew up on the streets. Maybe his mind had been warped and turned violent by the bullshit that he'd been through in his life. Then again, maybe he was just one of those sick fucks that started killing and skinning cats by the time he was all of four years old.

Either way, I didn't think he deserved any kind of leniency for what he'd done to Rachel. Even if it turned out that the guy _did_ suffer terribly as a kid or even as an adult, that doesn't excuse his choice to inflict similar torture on other people. What he did to her…it was a _choice_, a choice that he deserves to pay for.

* * *

I had been sitting at the desk, bouncing my knees and tapping my nails against the wood for close to ten minutes when the door of the room that the five men for the line-up had gone into opened, and each of them filed out in reverse order. I didn't want to look, because I didn't want to see him again, but I couldn't help myself. It was like when you pass a really bad car wreck on the side of the road. You don't want to see the carnage, but at the same time, you just can't stop yourself from glancing over at least once.

As soon as the guy holding the number four emerged from the room, his dark eyes locked onto me again, resulting in the same reaction I'd had earlier. My skin prickled uncomfortably, my stomached churned, and my chest grew tight and constricted. I couldn't fucking _breathe _with the way he was staring at me, watching me as if he was just dying to claim me or something.

The detective that was leading them had each of the men out of the room within a few seconds, so I didn't have to endure it for very long, but just those few seconds had been enough. I didn't think I'd ever be able to shake the image of his black eyes lingering over every part of me and staring straight into my soul. I was fucking terrified that that image would haunt me for the rest of my life, and just like his voice, and what he'd done to her, would haunt Rachel for the rest of hers.

Just as I was recovering from the chilling tremors still slightly racking my body, another door opened, and the detective emerged, pushing Rachel in her chair, and they were both followed by Rachel's substitute lawyer and the attacker's lawyer. My eyes instantly locked on Rachel, and my stomach just fucking dropped as I took in the state that she was in. Her entire body was shaking and her eyes were so wide that I was shocked they hadn't just completely popped out of her skull. Her hands were locked tightly together in her lap, so tightly that here knuckles were milky white and the veins on the back of her hands were prominent.

I rocketed out of the chair I'd been sitting in and crossed quickly over to Rachel, but she didn't seem to even notice me. I bent down and wrapped my arms around her, but she didn't return the embrace. She didn't sigh in relief or whisper my name. Instead, she just sat there in my arms, stiff and rigid as hell, and entirely unresponsive. And I was completely terrified. It wasn't that I didn't understand why she was like this, and I definitely knew that given what she'd just been through, this reaction was totally justified; it was just that if Rachel had receded into the dark place, I was terrified that I wasn't going to be able to bring her back out of it.

She had come such a long way even though every day, every minute, was still a struggle. I didn't want that struggle to increase, but I had a sinking feeling in my gut that it was going to. After what she'd had to listen to her attacker repeat in that room, the attack had to be new and fresh again in her mind and that was only going to cause her to plummet back into that fucking black hole that was constantly trying to pull her, pull both of us, into it. I hated it. I hated it so much that my hate was practically dancing on my skin in that moment.

I pulled out of the one-sided embrace and walked around behind Rachel's chair where I turned to the detective and whispered, "How'd it go?"

She didn't say anything, and honestly, I didn't even know if she was allowed to, but she did very subtly wink at me, and that was all I needed. Rachel had done well. She'd positively identified the right guy, and that meant that we had this shit in the bag.

"Rachel did very well," the detective said quietly.

"Great, so I can take her home now?" I asked, glancing back and forth between the detective and Rachel's substitute lawyer.

She nodded at me and said, "I will call you to let you know when the arraignment will be in case you and Rachel and her family would like to attend, and we will go from there. Okay?"

"Okay, thank you, Detective," I told her softly. She nodded and started to walk away, but I quickly grabbed her wrist to stop her, and when she turned back and locked eyes with me, I added, "For everything."

She placed her other hand on top of mine and squeezed it as she smiled at me and said, "You're very welcome." She then squeezed Rachel's shoulder affectionately, even though Rachel, of course, didn't even seem to notice, and then she headed back to another part of the station.

The lawyer guy told me that he would contact Rachel's dad with the details of everything and send him his notes and files, so that Hiram would be up-to-date on everything that had happened and would be happening, which I was thankful for. I thanked him and shook his hand before he left. Once he was gone, I grabbed the handles of Rachel's wheelchair and started pushing her toward the door, but then I noticed that it was dark outside, and the events of the day, paired with the fact that it was now night, were making me feel uneasy.

So, I quickly approached one of the detectives who was sitting at his desk, and it was a good few minutes before he even noticed me standing there. He swiped a hand down his face, and I could see dark circles under his eyes that made him look like he hadn't slept in over a week. He smiled tiredly at me and asked, "Do you need to speak to a detective, Miss?"

"No, sir," I answered, and I could feel my cheeks turning pink as I admitted, "the other detective said that we could go, but it's…it's dark now, and I was wondering if you or another detective could maybe go out with us to hail a cab and stay until we're all loaded up? Uh…please?"

I watched as his eyes darted down to Rachel and as soon as he looked at her, his tired eyes grew deep and sad, and I wondered just how many violated women he'd had to see in his career. There was no way that a career like that wouldn't wear on a person's soul, and I had so much respect for those detectives in that moment that I seriously could have hugged each and every one of them, which was saying something considering that outside of a VERY select and SMALL group of people, Santana Lopez did not hug.

He nodded and said, "Absolutely," and I breathed a sigh of relief. He pushed himself up out of his chair, grabbed his jacket, and fell into step at my side as we walked out the door and into the night.

* * *

Later that night, after we'd made it safely back to the loft, Rachel's state hadn't changed much at all. She was still frozen and silent, and entirely unresponsive to anything I said or did. It was really worrying me, because I'd seen Rachel frozen in shock at least once since the attack, but I had always been able to pull her out of it. My voice or my touch had always been enough to bring her back, but for some reason, it just wasn't enough this time. It was like I wasn't reaching her at all, and it simultaneously ignited fear in my cells while making me heart ache terribly in my chest.

Kurt and I tried to get her to talk, but she wouldn't, or she couldn't. It was pretty impossible to know which. I put her in bed when I realized that she wasn't going to come out of her daze anytime soon, and that seemed to be a pretty good move, because as soon as I helped her into the bed, she rolled onto her side and closed her eyes, saying nothing. Maybe she just wanted to sleep or shut out the world or something. Whatever it was, I got the very distinct feeling that she wanted to be alone, and though all I really wanted to do was hold her and talk to her and tell her that everything was going to be okay, I respected that she might just need some space to breathe. So, I simply dropped a kiss to her temple and went back to the living room to talk to Kurt.

He looked at me with tears in his eyes as I sat back down on the couch across from him, and I hated that look. I didn't want him to cry. I didn't want him to cry, because I was afraid that it would make me cry, and I was just so….so fucking tired of crying. It was like it was all I ever did anymore. I'd spent the last several weeks crying so much that I felt completely dry and sore and sick, and I didn't think I could handle any more tears.

What was worse was that I had actually had one of the best days of my life earlier that day with Rachel, touching her and kissing her and holding her and just laughing with her…everything. It felt so perfect, and then it all just goes to hell and blows up in our faces with one damn phone call. One phone call was all it took to remind us that the real world still existed outside that tiny bubble that we'd wrapped ourselves in for a few hours, that tiny bubble where Rachel and I were just two girls giggling and kissing and not giving a damn about anything else. But out in the real world, we weren't just two girls falling for each other. No, out in the real world, Rachel was a victim and I was a jaded hero just trying to keep her together. It all just felt so cruel and so painful, and I hated it.

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Kurt asked me quietly as he hugged tightly to a pillow that he'd squashed into his lap like he expected it to somehow hug him back and make him feel better.

"I hope so," I told him honestly.

He nodded absentmindedly before he asked another question. "So, I'm guessing that they got the right guy since she seems so…well, like that. What happened? Did she have to see him or something?"

"Yeah, it was the right guy," I answered, "and I don't know if Rachel had to actually see the guy, but I know she heard his voice. They made her do a voice line-up since he'd verbally threatened her the night of the attack, and…and they had each guy in the line-up say the same thing that the attacker said to her that night."

Kurt's eyes widened considerably before he asked me the question that I'd really been hoping he wouldn't ask. "What was it? What did he say to her?"

I sighed heavily as I felt those fucking frustrating tears building in my eyes and knew that there was no way I was going to be able to hold them back. "I don't know if each guy actually said the whole thing, but I know that they each had to say at least a portion of it," I told him as my voice cracked a bit, but whether it was from exhaustion or from the lump growing in my throat, I wasn't sure. "But what he actually said to her was, 'If you try to scream again, I'll kill you. If you fight me, I'll kill you. If you try to run, I'll kill you. Got it?'"

A single tear escaped my left eye and slid down the side of my face as I heard Kurt's small gasp followed by his soft, choked whimper. When I looked up and met his wide eyes, there were tears marring his cheeks and he had a pale hand cupped over his mouth. "I can't believe they made her go through that again," he whispered as he wiped at his cheeks.

I just nodded in agreement because my throat was way too fucking tight in that moment to even attempt to talk, and I quickly mimicked Kurt by grabbing the sofa pillow that was next to me and pulling it into my lap. I wrapped my arms tightly around it and buried my face in the top of it. When I inhaled, I realized that the pillow smelled exactly like Rachel, and that was when my tears just spilled over and I couldn't hold any of it in any longer as I cried silently into the pillow.

None of this felt right. None of it even felt _real_ at times. It just seemed like I was living some kind of fucked-up nightmare most days, and I kept thinking…_maybe I'll wake up soon_, but then I never do.

I never do.


	22. Chapter 22: Fur Coats and Best Friends

**A/N: Hello everyone. Thank you so much for your continued support of this story, especially to all of you who continue to review. The reviews are helpful and much appreciated.**

**Just to give you all a heads-up, I am currently and will be in the process of moving for a bit, so that is why my updates have been lagging as of late and probably will continue to do so until we are all settled in the new house. So, stick it out with me, friends, and I promise I will update as often as I can in the meantime. I hope you enjoy this chapter and the next few that follow as they should be quite fun. Enjoy! XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Fur Coats and Best Friends**

The next morning, I woke up to a tickling feeling on my cheeks and nose, the kind you get when your hair falls over your face in your sleep or when a feather pokes out of your pillow and touches your face. I tried to ignore it at first, but it just kept on even after I shook my head a few times to try and wrestle away whatever was tickling me. So finally I let out a heavy sigh and blinked open my eyes, letting them slowly adjust to the soft light filtering into the bedroom.

When I was finally able to fully focus, I couldn't help the smile that stretched my lips because the first thing I saw was Rachel's big, brown eyes staring at me from only a breath away, our heads sharing the same pillow. She looked breathtaking with the gentle light of the morning spilling through the window and dancing across her face, and it made my heart race…everything—the way she looked, the way she was looking _at me_, the fact that she was back, that she had come back to me from the frozen, fearful state she'd been trapped in the night before. It all made my heart like a symphony in my chest.

I was shaken out of the trance Rachel's eyes had trapped me in when I felt the tickling feeling on my face again, and that was when I realized the source of it, and that realization only made my smile grow and my heart swell to the point of bursting. It was Rachel, her fingertips. She was tracing my face with the tips of two of her fingers, a barely-there brush of skin that tickled at my flesh and at my heart.

"What are you doing?" I whispered to her just as her fingertips brushed over my lips. I pressed a small kiss to them in passing and waited for her answer.

"Memorizing," she told me quietly.

"What do you mean?" I asked her as I felt her fingertips slip under my chin and down my neck before gliding back up to my earlobe and across my jaw.

She took a heavy breath before letting it out in a long, staggered sigh. "Every time I close my eyes, I hear his voice, and now since yesterday, I see his face as well, the way he looked behind that glass," she whispered. "I'm sorry that I sort of disappeared on you last night, but I felt so trapped, Santana. I couldn't let go of the line-up. It was as if he could _see_ me through that glass even though I knew he couldn't. It was as if he was looking right at me, and I was completely terrified. Now, all I can see in my mind is his face, and I don't want to. I don't want to see his face anymore or hear his voice or feel like I'm falling apart every time little pieces of the attack slip into my thoughts."

Unbidden, my hands found their way to Rachel's waist and the next thing I knew, she was closer, her body flush against mine and our noses brushing. She didn't even seem to notice the shift, which made my heart swell. It was like my body was just so familiar and comfortable to her now, like maybe my body felt like home to hers, and that made me happier than I ever thought I'd be able to express.

"I don't want to feel that way anymore, Santana," she continued quietly. "I don't want to always be afraid, always picturing his face and hearing his voice. I want it to be _you_."

"What?" I asked her, confused as to what she meant by that. "You want _what_ to be me?"

"The person that I see when I close my eyes," she whispered, locking gazes with me as her fingertips halted on my bottom lip and stayed there, "I want it to be you."

My breath caught severely in my throat at those words, and I could hardly think straight let alone try to actually breathe. My heart wasn't even hammering in that moment. It was more like it had completely evaporated into nothing but air, the tiniest little breeze whispering across my ribcage. I felt entirely weightless, like I might just float away at any minute. I think that in that moment and hearing those words…I think it was the most special I'd ever felt in my entire life. I felt truly wanted, but it was more than that, because I felt needed, too, and that was worth everything to me.

"I want to see _your_ face and hear _your_ voice when my I close my eyes," Rachel told me, her words each like kisses to my soul, "because you are the only person who makes me feel safe and beautiful and wanted even after everything and even with these hideous scars that I will have for the rest of my life."

"They're not hideous, Rach, and I—" I tried to say, my voice cracking, but Rachel only pressed her fingertips harder against my lips to silence me.

She smiled softly at me then and said something that I knew I would never forget. "I don't want to see the face of the man who nearly took my life, Santana," she whispered. "I want to see the face of the beautiful girl who gave it back to me."

I felt the wet touch of my own tears as they slipped over the bridge of my nose and soaked into the pillow. Rachel's fingers brushed the tracks away before her lips pressed to the tip of my nose. "Thank you for taking such good care of me," she whispered as she stroked her fingers through my hair and pulled my body even more tightly against hers.

Oh god. I could feel them…my feelings. They were bubbling just under the surface like boiling water in a pot on the stove, ten seconds away from exploding out from under the lid and spewing all over everything. Oh shit. Oh shit. I was going to say it. I could just feel it. It was going to come out any second now, _the L-word_. I could feel it wiggling around inside my throat and just itching to crawl up and onto to my tongue and out of my mouth.

But I couldn't, right? I mean, I _couldn't _just say that I was IN LOVE with her. No. No way. It was WAY too soon for that, and just completely the wrong time given everything that she was going through and probably would be going through for a long time. No. Nope. I couldn't. The L-word had to be introduced at just the right time, not that I really knew what the right time _was_ considering I'd never really had any great (or any at all) experiences with real love. But to me, saying the L-word for the first time was like wearing a big-ass fur coat. You know? There was a time and a place for that shit, otherwise it would feel too heavy, or too hot, or too scratchy, or too much for _this_ event, or too much for _that_ outfit….ugh, just too much, too _everything. _

God, the way she was looking at me, though, and the things she'd just said. It was like she was doing everything in her adorable and mysterious dwarven powers to get me to spill my heart out. Of course, she couldn't have just been like, _hey Santana, you're cool. I like you. Thanks for being a totally dope friend. _Nope, _that _would have been way too easy, way too platonic, and admittedly entirely un-Rachel-like.

Instead, though, she had to be all, _I want to see your face when I close my eyes, Santana. You're beautiful. You make me feel safe. You make me feel wanted. I need you. _

In other words, she was basically saying, _please spill your guts, Santana. Please embarrass yourself and make things fifty times more difficult by telling me that you love me at this entirely inappropriate and way-too-soon moment in time. _

Oh Christ, I was going to explode! I didn't know how much longer I could hold all of this shit in. It was like every cute little thing she did or said, every time she opened up to me, and every time she touched me, my heart would just zip right up my throat and into my mouth and beg me to tell her. But at the same time, I was fucking terrified (repeat: TERRIFIED) of what would happen if I did. Would she reject me? Would she say it back? Would she NOT say it back? Would it be too soon or too much for her? Because it certainly seemed like it would be. I was just so conflicted that I felt like I might splinter apart at any moment.

And then my phone rang.

Oh sweet Jesus, thank you! The shrill sound chopped right through the tension building inside my body and through the moment that was still sort of dancing between Rachel and me, and though I wanted to spend as much time in our little more-than-friends, possible-semi-lesbian-lovers bubble as I could, I seriously didn't think I would last another second without blurting out my secret feelings.

Rachel's eyes nearly bugged out of her head as the sound drew her attention over my shoulder and toward the nightstand. "Shit!" she practically yelled, which not only shocked the hell out of me because it was loud but also because Rachel rarely cussed. I mean, I'd heard her pop off at the mouth a few times, but her language was hardly ever crude and definitely never even in the_ vicinity_ of being as bad as mine. I turned over quickly, reached for my phone, and instantly saw the reason for Rachel's shout.

Quinn Fabray's face was beaming brightly up at me from my phone's screen as it continued to ring for her incoming call. Shit. Shit. Shit. I'd completely forgotten about her. I grabbed the phone and quickly accepted the call on speaker. Before I could even get a word out, though, Quinn started talking.

"So, picture this scenario: here I am on the train bound for New York City, and of course, I am incredibly excited to see my two _very best_ friends after several weeks of being unable to get away from my ridiculously rigorous and difficult studies at Yale, and said excitement is only growing as I get closer and closer to the city. However, when the train pulls into the station, imagine my great surprise at realizing that my dear friend Santana, who I'd reminded _numerous _times of my _exact_ arrival time and received _multiple_ assurances that she would definitely_ NOT_ forget, is nowhere to be found. It seems that she, in fact, _DID_ forget to pick me up after all."

There was a long pause in which Rachel cupped a hand over her mouth to keep from cracking up and I just rolled my eyes before Quinn's voice came through again to dryly add, "End scenario."

"Dramatic much, Q?" I deadpanned. It seemed Quinn's drama courses at Yale were seriously taking their toll.

Rachel did all she could to keep her laughter from slipping out as she said, "I am _so _sorry, Quinn. I completely forgot to set the alarm for Santana."

"Yeah, yeah," Quinn mumbled. "Just open the door, bitches."

"Oh, you're here!" Rachel said excitedly. "Santana, go let her in. Go!"

"Damn people, stop pushing me around," I growled playfully as I planted a kiss to Rachel's cheek and rolled out of the bed. "I'm going. I'm going." I clicked to end the call with Quinn before darting out of the room and over to the large sliding door of the loft, the cold of the floor biting at the bottoms of my bare feet.

As soon as I slid the door open, I was greeted with searing hazel eyes that playfully hardened as Quinn said, "I can't believe you forgot about me."

I lowered my voice to a whisper and told her, "I'm sorry, okay? Some shit went down yesterday. I'll tell you about it later when Rachel naps, but trust me…you'll understand once you know."

Those hazel eyes instantly softened and saddened before Quinn nodded her head, stepped into the loft, and right into my arms. We wrapped easily around each other, something that was like second-nature to us because her body was familiar to me, comfortable, just like mine was to her. Quinn and I…we'd been best friends for so long that it felt surreal to think that there had ever been a time in my life that I hadn't known her. Hell, we'd been best friends for so long that sometimes it was like we were the same person. We just got each other…and it meant more to me than I'd ever be able to tell her, but something told me that she already knew, even if I never found a way to say it.

"I missed you," I told her as I squeezed her tightly.

"I missed you too," she said, grunting from how tightly I was squishing her. I laughed and let go of her before reaching for the handle of her enormous suitcase and wheeling it over to Kurt's room. He'd only just left early that morning to visit his dad and have a "serious talk" with Blaine for a few days, and Quinn's classes were out for the next week because of some lame Yale crap that I couldn't remember anything about, and she was spending the whole week in New York with us. So, I figured she might as well get to use Kurt's room and sleep in his nice, big bed since it was available instead of having to sleep on our couch.

"Santana, I can sleep on your cot," Quinn said as she followed me into Kurt's room. "You should get to sleep in here while Kurt is gone."

My face went cherry red in that moment because I'd completely forgotten that neither Rachel nor I had told Quinn about our sleeping arrangement since the attack. I mean, yes Quinn knew that sometimes Rachel had terrible nightmares and I would always stay with her then to help her calm down and get back to sleep, but she didn't know that it was a full-time, every-night kind of thing. Needless to say, there was definitely going to be a reaction to that.

"Uh…" I mumbled out, avoiding eye contact as I strained to pick Quinn's suitcase up before plopping it down on Kurt's bed so that she wouldn't have to squat down to the floor to unpack it. "I actually sleep with Rachel."

"You _sleep _with Rachel?" she reiterated, arching that famous Fabray eyebrow at me. "As in, in the same bed _every night_?"

"Yeah," I answered, clearing my throat and keeping my voice low so that Rachel wouldn't overhear, "but we just _sleep_, I swear. I couldn't…I mean, I _wouldn't _ever try to push her to do anything more than that."

"Hey," Quinn said softly as she grabbed my hands and squeezed until I looked up and locked gazes with her. "I know you wouldn't. It's not a big deal, Santana. I was just a bit surprised that it was an every-night kind of thing versus only when she has nightmares. Then again, I assumed after seeing her Facebook status that day that you two were sort of in a relationship now, but Rachel has been very tightlipped about it every time I've asked her about you two on the phone."

She smiled at me then, that annoyingly knowing Quinn smile that always grated on my nerves because it was like the woman could suddenly see all my secrets. I rolled my eyes at her and said, "That's because there's nothing to tell. We're not in a relationship, Q. She only made that status to make a point to Hudson that he needed to stop with his stupid Facebook insults."

"Really?" Quinn asked, that annoying smile still planted on her lips as she poked playfully at my sides. "That's the _only _reason?"

"Okay, okay, stop," I laughed out as I smacked at her hands. "She likes me, okay? Are you happy? She _does _like me. I know that much, but we aren't in a relationship."

"But you _want_ to be," Quinn said, smirking. "I can see it all over your face. You like her, too."

"Oh god, Quinn, I fucking love her," I groaned in a strained whisper, finally exploding beyond the point of holding it in anymore, and damn, it felt _good _to finally just tell someone.

Quinn gasped, her eyes going wide, and she quickly lifted a hand to cover her mouth. "I know, I know," I whined at the look on her face, guilt racking my body in that moment. "I know it's too soon and I can't say anything because she's not ready for that kind of thing right now, and I haven't told her. I swear I haven't, because I don't want to put any kind of pressure on her, not to mention the fact that I'm fucking terrified that she doesn't feel the same way, but fuck, I love her, Q. I love her. I can't stop loving her. I think about her all the time, and I wanna be with her all the time, and it's driving me fucking CRAZY to not say it, because she does all these cutesy little things and says all these like stupidly romantic things that make me just want to—"

"Santana!" Quinn snapped at me as she grabbed my shoulders tightly and shook me. "Take a breath!"

I sucked in a heavy breath like she said and then I watched as a massive and beautiful smile spread across her lips. As soon as I saw it, I just couldn't help myself. I dissolved into a loud round of laughter and Quinn quickly followed. I collapsed into her arms as we laughed and she just rubbed my back and said, "Oh honey, you've got it bad."

"QUINN FABRAY!" Rachel shouted from her room, her voice echoing loudly through the loft in a very sing-song manner and only causing Q and I to laugh harder. "While I am quite aware of Santana's many entertaining qualities, you have now been here exactly six minutes and thirty-seven seconds and have yet to say hello to me! In case you have both forgotten, I am rather incapacitated here, so a certain blonde had better make her way into my room in the next twenty seconds or I may very well take offense and rescind her invitation!"

"Wow," I said through my laughter. "I can't believe it took you and Rachel so long to be besties. You're both dramatic as hell."

"Uh huh," Quinn said, smirking at me. "You're _many entertaining qualities_, huh?"

"Shut it, Q," I snapped at her, narrowing my eyes. "Go visit the munchkin and I'll unpack your stuff for you."

"Alright," Quinn drawled, "but you and I have MUCH to talk about later, Santana."

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled before watching her stroll from the room and over toward Rachel's. I didn't know if I was looking forward to that conversation or not.


	23. Chapter 23: The Scars We Wear

**A/N: Hi friends. I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and it holds a special place in my heart. There is an in-depth and loving look into Quinn and Rachel's close friendship (from Santana's point of view, of course) that I think is truly a beautiful scene, and I hope that you will all enjoy it.**

**Please continue to review. They help more than you know and always put a smile on my face. Thank you all for your continued support. Enjoy! XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Twenty-Three: The Scars We Wear**

I couldn't help the smile that practically exploded across my face when I heard Rachel's adorable giggle echo through the loft, and I just felt so thankful for Quinn in that moment. I knew that Rachel had been missing her and I also knew that Quinn had been terribly worried about the diva ever since the attack, so I was glad that they were finally getting to spend some time together; not to mention that I was pretty stoked about spending some time with Q, myself. The bitch was my best friend after all. Plus, Quinn had always had this special way of cheering Rachel up no matter the circumstances. I guess it was beyond my understanding, but there was just this…I don't know, this _ease _between them, this incredibly affectionate and lighthearted ease that kind of echoed my own friendship with Quinn, except that it was gentler than ours. It was like Quinn just knew how to handle Rachel and Rachel had always known that Quinn was so much more than the bitch persona she used as a defense mechanism.

I guess that considering my continuously growing feelings for Rachel, I should've been jealous of how close they were, but it just wasn't like that. I'd always been incredibly perceptive, and though there was definitely no question about the affection that existed between them, I could tell it didn't extend beyond friendship. Quinn and Rachel loved each other. They loved each other profoundly, like the way that Quinn and I loved each other, though of course we had different ways of showing it, and while I think a lot of people might normally be jealous, I could only feel happy that they had each other like that, and that I had both of them as well.

You just never really realize how much friendship matters, how much you should cherish your connections with other people, until reality slaps you so fucking hard in the face that it makes your teeth chatter in your skull. That's what it had been like with the attack. Reality had beaten the living hell out of us, and it only made us, _all of us_, realize just how much we needed each other and how much we would always love each other.

"You cannot be serious, Quinn," I heard Rachel say, and though she laughed, she also sounded a bit self-conscious, and that made me a little nervous. It's not like I was actually nervous _for _Rachel, because I knew she was safe and happy with Quinn, but it was like I just couldn't help myself, couldn't help my feelings. Every time I heard even the slightest bit of trepidation in Rachel's voice or detected the tiniest hint of fear in her features, it was like something just snapped inside me. It was like something would just latch onto me and yank me toward her, like there was nowhere else in the world that I could be until she was smiling or laughing. That responsibility was mine, and I carried it proudly.

"Totally serious, Rach, come on," I heard Quinn answer, and that was pretty much all I could take. I needed to be in on whatever they were talking about; plus…well, I really needed some humor and comfort after everything that had happened the day before. I really needed to the friendship, to be surrounded by it.

I abandoned Quinn's luggage halfway through unpacking her ten tons of crap and darted back through the loft to the room that I shared with Rachel. The smile instantly returned to my face as I quietly stepped just inside the frame and neither of the other two had noticed me yet. I leaned against the frame and let the scene in front of me make my heart swell like a massive balloon in my chest and fill me up so that I felt like I was floating. Quinn was up on her knees in the bed just to Rachel's right and she had the goofiest grin on her face as she yanked her shirt up and tucked it into her bra so that her pale, toned stomach was bare and visible. Rachel was just laughing adorably and her face showed both her trepidation as well as her affection as she watched Quinn trace a pale finger over a long, gnarly scar that curved over her hipbone and almost up to her belly-button.

"See, this one is totally badass," Quinn said, cocking her eyebrow at Rachel who only laughed and shook her head in disbelief. "There is no way you have anything that is beating that."

"I assure you I do," Rachel told her quietly and her big, brown eyes just looked so distant and so sorrowed as she spoke, but Quinn didn't let her linger on the sadness. Q quickly shook her head and exclaimed, "No way, Berry! Keep dreaming."

I seriously just wanted to wrap my arms around Quinn in that moment and thank her. Rachel had been so self-conscious about her scars, the evidence of the terrible things she'd been through. They made her feel ugly and dirty and used, but Quinn…well, she had some pretty terrible scars of her own from her car accident senior year, and she wasn't about to let Rachel feel alone or ugly or any of that pointless shit. We both knew Rachel was beyond beautiful, and with this…with these scars…Quinn was perhaps the _only _person who could help Rachel learn to accept them and see them as evidence of her strength and survival rather than her assault and near-death, and for that, I was beyond grateful.

"Yes way, Fabray," Rachel then countered, regaining some confidence, and a smile began to break out over her features as that ease she always had with Quinn began to take hold and comfort her. It was beautiful to witness and meant more to me than I could even process in the moment, but when Quinn said, "Prove it," my heart just exploded in my chest. Q was every bit as anxious as I was. I could sense it even though she masked it well, and we both held our breaths as we waited to see if Rachel would actually rise to the challenge.

I was beyond thankful that neither Quinn nor Rachel was aware of my presence in the doorway, because the second that Rachel's fingertips timidly dropped to the hem of her shirt and began to slide it upwards, the breath I'd been holding slammed through my lips and tears spilled from my eyes and down my cheeks. Happiness flooded my heart as I watched her lift her shirt to expose her stomach and ribs. The skin over her ribs was still slightly yellowed from faded bruising, but it looked so much better than the terrible images that still danced in my head sometimes. She traced her index finger over one of the large, jagged scars on her stomach and nervously whispered, "See?"

"See what?" Quinn asked playfully, but not without having to subtly clear her throat first and even then, I could hear that her voice was thick with her own tears. She knew, just as well as I did, that this was a huge moment for Rachel and it meant so much to the both of us that we could hardly contain our emotions. Q teasingly squinted her eyes as she stared at Rachel's stomach before loudly exclaiming, "OHHHH! Okay, I _think _I see it." She reached over and slid her fingertip down the scar and teased her by asking, "Are you talking about this dinky little white line here?"

I had to place a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing and alerting them to my presence. God, I loved Quinn so much in that moment that I was practically overflowing with my respect and affection for her. I knew damn well that she was exaggerating, because Rachel's scars from the stabbing were extensive, and she knew it, but she was trying to help Rachel see that they weren't a big deal. They were just evidence of something she'd been through and something she had _overcome_. They were nothing but lines, and Rachel didn't need to obsess over them or let them make her feel like anything less than the stunning creature she was.

Rachel giggled adorably as Quinn shook her head and said, "Uh uh, no way, Rach. _That_ is a pathetic scar. Neither one of those scars can even hold a candle to this baby." She pointed back to the scar on her hipbone where the buckle and edge of her seatbelt had quite literally sliced right through her flesh when she was crushed against it in the car accident that had not only nearly taken her life, but had nearly robbed her of the ability to ever walk again. Quinn, like Rachel, was a living, breathing miracle.

My little diva's eyes narrowed as her jaw set rigidly, and I knew that Quinn had successfully baited her into the playful competition. If nothing else, Rachel Berry absolutely _loved _to win. It was seriously almost stupid how adorable I found her in that moment, and I actually had to roll my eyes at myself. Fuck, Quinn was right. I had it so bad for Rachel.

"Fine," Rachel snapped, smirking at Quinn before she moved to pull her shirt up even higher. She hissed a bit in pain as she moved her shoulder too quickly. The stab wound to her right shoulder had been extremely deep and she still had some pain when moving her arm too high or rolling onto her shoulder a certain way. My protective instincts kicked in instantly and I was just barely able to stop myself from practically sprinting to the bed to make sure that she was okay, but I managed to hold back, taking comfort in the fact that Quinn was immediately there.

She didn't say anything or even ask if Rachel was okay, probably because she'd only just gotten her to the point of feeling more badass than anything else about her scars, and she didn't want to push Rachel to reverting back to feeling like a victim. So, instead of saying anything, she simply leaned over and silently helped Rachel lift her shirt the rest of the way up and over her arms until she was completely free of it. Once Rachel was free of her shirt, she pushed down the bottom of the tiny tank-top she'd had on under her t-shirt, because she wanted to cover herself up a bit more, the small moment of pain making her feel the slightest bit apprehensive again. She bit the bullet though, and locked gazes with Quinn as she pointed to her right shoulder and raggedly said, "There," and I could tell by the sound of her voice that she was fighting back tears.

There was silence for another long moment before Quinn reached forward and ran her fingers over the deep, wide scar on Rachel's shoulder. It was a bad one, I knew. I'd seen it more times than I could count, and every time I did, it made my heart fucking ache like someone was squeezing the hell out of it. The scar was terribly jagged and really wide, like the guy had wiggled it around or something once he'd gotten it in her, or like maybe he'd had trouble jerking it back out. Fuck…my stomach flipped uncomfortably at that thought and I had to swallow thickly just to keep from spilling its contents on the floor. I wiped at my cheeks as fresh tears fell, and I just tried to keep quiet while the two people who mattered most to me in my life continued to share a moment that I knew was more important than any words could say.

Quinn continued to trace the scar before she let out a forced, breathy chuckle, one in which I could practically _hear _her heartache and tears, and said, "Damn, you got me with that one. That one definitely trumps this one. It's way more badass. It might even be more badass than the one on my back, and that is _seriously _saying something."

Rachel laughed a bit at that, but she didn't even try to hide the tears that had started to stream down her cheeks as she suddenly shot forth a hand and latched it onto one of Quinn's. She clutched Q's hand tightly as she locked gazes with her and raggedly whispered, "Thank you, Quinn."

I could just barely make out the tears that had finally started to fall down Quinn's own cheeks as she nodded before whispering, "These scars are evidence that you _survived_, Rach. _You_ are _so _strong. And you are—"

"Beautiful," I finally spoke, finishing Q's sentence, and making my presence known to the two of them. They both smiled brightly at me as they turned to face me, and Quinn immediately lifted her hands to wipe away her tears. She hated crying, and worse, she hated crying in front of other people. She always had to be the strong one. I locked gazes with her and quietly asked, "Quinn, could I talk to you for a minute?"

Her brow furrowed for a moment before she simply nodded her head in answer. She squeezed Rachel's hand and then climbed out of the bed and darted past me and into the kitchen. I looked at Rachel, our gazes lingering on each other for just a second, before I winked at her and said, "Be right back, you."

"Okay," she whispered as she smiled at me and wiped at her cheeks.

When I stepped out of the room and over into the kitchen, Quinn was leaning against the counter waiting for me. She looked up as I stopped a few feet from her with my arms crossed tightly over my chest and my heart continuing to swell against my ribcage, and her brow furrowed again. "Is everything okay, Santana?" she asked quietly.

I started to say something, but my voice failed me in that moment as my emotions just fucking boiled over and completely flooded my system, and instead of words, all that escaped me was a strangled whimper like someone was squeezing the hell out of my vocal chords. And it was then that I just broke down. Tears spilled down my cheeks as I quickly closed the distance between myself and Quinn and wrapped my arms fiercely around her. She didn't even hesitate or seem surprised, because she instantly responded. Her arms locked tightly around me as I cried into her neck and squeezed her like my damn life depended on it.

"Thank you," I choked out as she rubbed comforting circles into my back, and I would've given anything in that moment to have better words to tell her how much what she'd just done for Rachel meant to me. Those were the only two words that came to me, though, and while they weren't much, I knew that sometimes…sometimes the simplest things could be larger than life.

A few minutes later, Quinn and I both made our way back into the bedroom. I instantly flopped onto the bed and crawled playfully up the length of Rachel's body, making sure not to put any of my weight on her or jostle her around. She laughed beautifully as I dropped loud, wet kisses all over her cheeks and forehead before shifting over and falling just to the side of her, pressed between her and the wall. Quinn smirked knowingly at me, to which I could only roll my eyes, before she practically skipped over to the bed and crawled in on Rachel's other side.

Rachel sighed contentedly and rested her head against my shoulder as she slipped her hand into Quinn's and laced their fingers together. "I love you both so much," she whispered and her voice sounded so sincere and so beautiful in that moment that I could have just drowned in it. I pressed my lips to her temple at almost the same time that Quinn cuddled gently into Rachel's other side, and we just laid there like that for a long time, the burdens that always dragged us down floating away in that moment so that for what felt like the first time in years, we could each breathe easily. It felt good. It felt perfect. It felt free.

* * *

"Santana, I don't think _anyone_ could have ever guessed that," Rachel said, trying her best not to laugh at me, but Quinn didn't even try to hold her laughter in. She cracked up loudly from where they sat together on the couch, Q's head resting in Rachel's lap as she pointed at me mockingly and asked, "Seriously, what the hell was that hopping you were doing?"

I rolled my eyes at her and snapped, "It was a horse, Q!"

"A HORSE?!" Quinn exclaimed, laughing even louder, her words slurring from her obvious intoxication. We'd busted out the wine a few hours ago since Rachel could have some now that she wasn't on the heavy pain meds anymore, just the regular over-the-counter crap. I was feeling a little hot and dizzy myself after a few glasses, but Quinn was basically trashed, and it was simultaneously hilarious and annoying. Rachel, on the other hand, was freaking adorable. Her cheeks were all flushed and she giggled uncontrollably every few minutes; not to mention the way she was looking at me. It just made my whole body sing, but never louder than my heart.

"I thought it was like a giant rabbit or something," Quinn continued. "That's why I kept shouting _Donnie Darko_. I thought you were the creepy evil bunny thing from that movie."

Rachel giggled again at that and poked Q's sides, saying, "Stop teasing her, Quinn. It was a nice attempt at Zorro, Santana."

"Eh, no it wasn't," I told her, grinning. "I suck at charades. Well, no that's not true. It's just this lame charades app on my phone picks the dumbest shit. Like Zorro, seriously? That's what you give me?" I shouted that last bit at my phone before reaching for my wine and downing another large drink, loving the way it fizzled when it hit my stomach.

"Nah, I vote that you just suck at charades," Q slurred, and I shot her the best glare I could manage given my growing state of intoxication. Rachel tried pretty hard to not to laugh at Q's smartass reply, but when she snorted from trying to hold it in, Quinn only lost it harder, laughing so loudly that it echoed throughout the entire loft and sent Rachel tumbling into laughter as well.

I grabbed a pillow off the sofa and chunked it hard at her face. "Listen, Quinnifer Anniston!" I snapped as the pillow smacked into her head before rolling off to the floor. Both she and Rachel died laughing at me calling her that, which almost made me lose it, myself, but I kept it together as I bit out, "Just because you're a big-time drama nerd at Yale now, it doesn't make you the almighty queen of charades. It's not like you can do any better."

"S, Rachel has guessed all but one of mine so far and she's _missed _all but two of yours," Q argued before glancing up at Rachel from her lap and asking, "Right, Rach?"

Rachel quickly swallowed down the large gulp of wine she'd only just poured into her mouth before grabbing for the score-pad she had sitting on the arm of the couch and double-checking it. "Yes," she slurred as she cast a guilty, sheepish look in my direction. "She has a point. Sorry babe."

The room went completely silent as that term of endearment slipped across Rachel lips, and my heart like just completely fizzled into a blissful oblivion in that moment. I didn't even freaking care that it was the alcohol talking, because Rachel Barbra Berry had just called me "babe." Her cheeks turned completely pink as she gasped in surprise at her own unconscious choice of words, but a smile quickly touched her features as she locked timid gazes with me and saw my own grin. And damn was I grinning. I mean, I couldn't actually see myself, but I was fucking feeling like the cheshire cat in that moment, all teeth and confidence.

I glanced down to Q who was pretty much grinning in the same way and that only made the moment that much more real for me, and just like that, I was on my game again. I clapped my hands together and said, "Alright Q, let's do this then. I'm about to brings the Lima-Heights heat, blondie. Think you can handle it?"

Quinn lifted up onto her elbows and arched that famous eyebrow at me even as Rachel giggled animatedly next to her. "Don't give me the brow, Quinnt Eastwood, because I AM feelin' lucky and I WILLS make your day!" I snapped, and both Rachel and Q just stared at me for a long moment before both of them completely crumbled into a raucous fit of laughter.

"Quinnt Eastwood!" Q exclaimed, slapping at Rachel's arm as she roared her laughter. "Oh my god, that was freaking hilarious!"

"So much better than Quinnifer Anniston," Rachel laughed out.

"Ah hell, you guys are way too drunk for this shit," I told them, joining in the laughter. "Hell, _I'm_ way too drunk for this shit."

I plopped down on the couch with them, practically sitting on top of Quinn so that I could be close to Rachel, but Q didn't seem to care, so whatever. She just smacked my ass and shifted to make herself more comfortable as I settled in and Rachel said, "Even though you lost, Santana, you were still quite entertaining."

I grinned at her before leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to her cheek and whispering quietly in her ear. "Thanks…_babe._" She blushed profusely at my teasing her with the pet name she'd used on me earlier, and I found it completely adorable; that is, until Q butted in and ruined the moment.

"How the hell do you manage to still speak so properly when you're drunk?" she asked, looking up at Rachel with a genuinely confused expression. I couldn't help but chuckle at that, because Q apparently didn't even realize that she was pretty much the exact same way. I just rolled my eyes though and threw out a thought of my own.

"Yeah, Rach, you've come a long way from that drunken Glee house party you threw in high school," I said, chuckling as I brushed soft chocolate locks out of her face, "with you shouting about drinks tasting like pink and singing weirdly hetero duets with gay Blaine."

There was a moment of silence before all three of us dissolved into laughter again and Quinn smartly quipped, "I seem to recall someone shouting that she _wanted_ Rachel during that duet."

"Nevermind, new topic," I blurted, and just like that, we were laughing again.

I'd had a lot of fun times in my life, and a lot of hardship too, but I swear in that moment, I was the happiest I'd ever been.


	24. Chapter 24: A Thousand What-Ifs

**Chapter Twenty-Four: A Thousand What-Ifs**

Shockingly enough, I woke up nowhere near as hung over as I thought I would be, which was pretty awesome considering I really hadn't been looking forward to spending the first half of my day with my head jammed in the toilet. To make up for the nausea, though, my neck and back were sore as hell as I blinked open my eyes and realized that I was still on the couch. What was worse was that I was practically _inside _the damn thing, tucked into the crack at the back of the couch where the cushions began. My legs were hanging out, though, and were wrapped around Quinn's upper body, which was the only part of her that was actually on the couch as her lower half was spread across the coffee table. I had to put a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing out loud as I realized that while _my_ legs were wrapped around Quinn, Rachel's feet were practically rubbing her face. I also realized in that moment that my face was basically pressed into Rachel's right tit and my right arm was slung possessively across her waist. She was the only one of us in a comfortable position, which was fine because she was the only one who actually _needed _to be. Still, the entire picture was hilarious and made me wish that I had one of those remote-controlled cameras set up so I could take a quick shot of us.

I tried not to jostle Rachel around much as I fought to push myself up out of couch crack, grunting as I did so. Fuck, my whole body felt like somebody had stuck it inside a trash compactor and squashed the hell out of it. I didn't even remember falling asleep let alone how we'd all gotten into these whack positions. I slowly and carefully slipped my legs out of Quinn's grip and from around her head before crawling over both of them and darting silently into the kitchen to make some coffee.

As it was brewing, I popped some Tylenol into my mouth and downed it with some water to knock out the throbbing in my head. Just as I was about to put the bottle back in the fridge, I heard a grunt and groan that were unmistakably Quinn's before the blonde practically crawled into the kitchen with a scowl on her face and whined as she held her hand out for my bottle of water. I laughed quietly as I passed the bottle over to her and dropped a couple Tylenol into her hand as well.

"Oh god, thank you," Quinn groaned raggedly as she greedily chugged the water and downed the pills. "My head feels like it might explode."

I nodded in understanding before asking, "How's your body? Sore? Did you _see _that you were sleeping with your ass on the coffee table and your face in Rachel's feet?"

She rolled her eyes as she laughed a bit and took the coffee mug I'd only just filled and held out to her. "Thanks. Yeah, I'm surprised my joints aren't creaking. At least Rachel's feet are tiny and don't smell bad."

I laughed out loud at that and quickly had to clamp a hand over my mouth so that I wouldn't wake the sleeping dwarf in the living room. "Could've been worse," I told her, my voice gravelly from all the laughing and drinking the night before. I sipped at my searing hot coffee and hummed in approval before saying, "_I_ woke up literally _inside _the damn couch, like actually stuffed down into the crack. I mean, how the hell does that even happen?"

Quinn burst into laughter at that before groaning and clutching her head. "Don't make me laugh. It hurts. Everything hurts, Santana," she whined and I only rolled my eyes at her before pressing a finger to my lips to signal that she needed to be quiet before pointing toward Rachel's bedroom. I signaled for her to follow me before grabbing my coffee and darting quickly into the room with Quinn behind me.

As soon as the door clicked closed behind her, we both crawled onto Rachel's bed with our coffee mugs and sighed at the comfort of a soft mattress versus a couch and coffee table. "Sorry, I didn't want to wake her and the kitchen is really close to the living room," I told her as we both leaned against the wall, our shoulders pressed together.

She nodded and said, "Sooo…." I could only groan as Quinn drew out the word and bumped my shoulder, because I knew the conversation she wanted to have, and I really didn't want to go there when my head felt like someone had taken a jackhammer to it. This was Quinn, though, so it wasn't like I really had a choice. Still, I tried to play dumb, which worked for about 2.5 seconds.

"So…" I sighed in return, avoiding her gaze because I knew that her head was turned and those hazel eyes were boring into the side of my face.

She waited a second or two to see if I would actually start talking, but when I didn't, she huffed dramatically and said, "Don't play stupid, Santana. We didn't get to have our talk yesterday because Rachel decided she would rather drink a gallon of wine than take a nap. So, we're going to have it now."

"_Now?!" _I whined as I scrunched up my face to show my complete abhorrence of the idea. "But my head hurts, and _you're_ even more hung over that I am."

"So?" Quinn asked, looking at me as if my excuses were the lamest ones she'd ever heard, which I knew wasn't true, because she had dated Finn Hudson, and I'd personally never met anyone dumber than that oaf. I'm sure he'd had a ton of idiotic excuses for why he always looked constipated or why he incessantly raged against chairs or why he got a boner every time someone with a vagina walked into the room. "You can still talk to me, S, preferably while holding my hair back."

"Ew," I grumbled as I watched her face suddenly turn even paler than usual, which meant she looked practically albino. "Are you gonna hurl?"

She nodded frantically before shoving her empty coffee mug in my lap, jumping off the bed, and sprinting for the bathroom. I ran a hand through my tangled hair, wincing as my fingers snagged against the knots, before sighing heavily and forcing myself out of the bed. I sat the coffee mugs on Rachel's dresser and made my way into the bathroom where Quinn was already leaning over the toilet, clutching at the sides as her back arched and she gagged over and over. I hated the sound. It almost always made my own gag reflex kick in, but I choked down my own bile, dropped down to the floor, and sat with my back up against the bathtub. I leaned forward and wrapped one hand in her soft, blonde hair to hold it back from her face, and I used the other hand to rub comforting circles into her back as she spilled the contents of the previous night into the toilet.

"I don't hear you talking," she choked out between spew sessions as she rested her forehead against the toilet seat and her groan echoed around the bowl.

"You seriously want me to talk about my romantic feelings for Rachel Berry _while _you literally vomit right next to me?" I deadpanned, still holding her hair and rubbing her back. It was really kind of amazing how comforting a back rub could be when you were throwing up; totally weird, but amazing all the same.

I had to wait another minute or so while she heaved into the toilet again before she let out a ragged sigh of relief and leaned back and away from the toilet. She lay back against me, her back nested against my chest and her head leaning back on my shoulder as she wiped at her forehead, which was sweating from the exertion of vomiting, and she nodded without saying anything. Shit.

I didn't even know where to begin or what to even say. I wanted to get my feelings out, honestly, and talk about them. I was hoping that doing so would help me with the whole I'm-about-to-explode-because-I-want-to-tell-you-th at-I'm-in-love-with-you ordeal that I was faced with almost every single time Rachel Berry smiled at me, or said something impossibly sweet or nerdy, or touched me, or hummed a song, or laughed, or snored, or you know…breathed. Whatever. The trouble wasn't that I didn't want to talk to Quinn about it. The trouble was that I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how to express how I felt, because I just felt so fucking much.

That was the thing about me. In high school, people always thought I was this shallow bitch that never felt anything, that I was just this cold-hearted slut with nothing going on beneath the surface. They were wrong. Of course, they were really only seeing what I wanted them to see, but regardless, it was a farce. The whole thing was an act, because the truth would have made me too open, too exposed, and too vulnerable. I didn't want to be open with people, because I couldn't even be open with myself. I was afraid of the real me, afraid that no one would accept me, or that people would make fun of me or use my vulnerabilities against me. I was just…afraid. It was pretty much as simple as that, though I definitely wasn't about to go telling anyone that.

The truth is that I feel everything, and sometimes my experiences are so overwhelming that I can't even string my thoughts together properly. It's like I'm always just trying to push down all the crap constantly swirling around inside my head and inside my heart, just trying to get everything further down and further away so that I never really have to deal with any of it, or so that I never have to show it to anyone. But I _do _feel it. I feel it all—every ache and every sorrow, every glare and every threat, every smile and every hug, every laugh and every tear, every touch and every denial…_everything_. And not a single experience has ever left me unaffected. Sometimes, I'm so affected that I can't even breathe.

So, no, I didn't have a clue what to say about how I felt about Rachel Berry, but I knew that I needed to try to say _something_. I needed to try to get all of it out to someone, someone I could trust…Quinn. So, I just told her the first words that came to mind when I thought of Rachel, and I went from there.

"She's beautiful," I whispered raggedly as I closed my eyes and leaned my head down against Quinn's, where it was still resting against my shoulder. I kept my eyes closed because I didn't want to see her reaction, which most likely was a teasing smile, and she kept her silence because she knew it was the only way to keep me talking.

"She…" Images of Rachel flashed through my mind as I kept my eyes clenched tightly closed and let my thoughts be devoured by the tiny brunette, my heart racing in answer. She became like a movie inside my head, images of her singing, close-ups of her smile as well as her tears, her animal sweaters, her soft thank-you kisses, her quiet confessions and insecurities…and every single image made my chest clench tightly or my breath stutter in my lungs. "She's so much more than I ever thought," I admitted quietly, tears springing into my closed eyes as my heart swelled and my entire body was alive with the way I felt about Rachel.

"She's strong, so strong, but she's weak too, you know? Not in a bad way, just in that way where she doesn't always see how special she is, like she needs reassurance sometimes. We always thought she was so full of herself in high school, but she's not like that. She's confident in her talent, but that's about as far as it goes, Q. She doesn't think she's beautiful. She doesn't see how incredible she is. And I hate…I _hate _that we did that to her, Quinn. I hate that _we_ made her that way." My voice cracked as I said those last words.

I felt Quinn's body shutter against mine and when I leaned my head around to look at her, there were tears running down her fair cheeks. "Me too," she whispered, not even bothering to wipe the tears away.

I sighed as I slipped one of my hands into hers and squeezed it tightly before saying, "And she's funny, Q." Quinn laughed a bit at that, her voice ragged and thick with her tears. "She's so much funnier than I ever knew."

"And she's quiet," I told her, smiling as I thought of all the times I'd lain in bed with Rachel in total silence, both of us wide awake and just staring at each other or just holding hands. Those moments had meant so much to me.

Quinn snorted in response as if she found that incredibly hard to believe, and I couldn't help but laugh as I said, "No, really, she is. Or she can be. She likes to talk, duh. No one is denying that, but she's not _always_ like that; at least, not with me. Sometimes, she'll just lay with me in silence and hold my hand. And she listens, Q…she listens to me."

I saw Q's smile that time. It was simple, small, and sweet, but it was definitely there, and I knew it was because she was happy for me. I couldn't help but echo the smile, too. Rachel just did that to me…made me smile; obviously, she was even capable of it when she wasn't in the room. Who would've ever thought? Me and Rachel Berry…it was almost laughable, but damn if I didn't think it was the best thing to have ever happened to me.

I took a deep breath, new tears springing into my eyes as I squeezed Q's hand again and whispered, "My whole life, Q…my _whole _life I've just felt so invisible. I mean, I know I was popular in high school and a cheerio and all of that, but that wasn't the _real _me. I kept so much of myself hidden, because I didn't think anyone could like me, let alone love me, if they knew who I really was, _what _I really was. Even now, I just have so many days when I feel like I'm hiding who I am, when I feel like no one really _sees _me, you know? But Rachel…she sees me. I think she _really _sees me."

Tears were fully streaming down my cheeks now as my heart swelled even larger in my chest. "When she looks at me, Q, I feel so…I don't know…so special. Don't laugh because I know that that sounds freaking cliché as hell, but it's true. She makes me feel like I can just be myself and still be beautiful, still be important."

"I'm not laughing," Quinn said softly as she smiled at me through her own tears. "I think it's beautiful, Santana, that she makes you feel that way."

I swallowed thickly as I nodded and said, "She touches me sometimes, just little touches, like holding my hand or cupping my cheek or something, and I swear, Q, it's like the entire fucking world just disappears and it's just me and her. My heart races and I can't breathe and my head starts spinning like it's gonna pop off my neck and fly away. And I want to tell her, you know? I want to tell her that I love her, that I'm pretty sure I'm _in love _with her, but how can I do that, Quinn? I mean, look at what she's been through. Romance and relationships and all that shit are just...it's probably the last thing she needs in her life right now, because she needs time to like heal and everything, and get back on her feet, and feel strong and independent, and whatever the hell else she needs…but I can't help how I feel. I've tried, you know. I've tried to push it all down and away and not think about it, but then she kisses me, and I just—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Quinn interjected, jolting up and away so that she could turn to look at me fully, that famous Fabray eyebrow arched and practically disappearing into her hairline. "What do you mean she _kisses _you?"

I could literally _feel_ my face turning red in that moment as my eyes widened and I stuttered out, "Uh…y-yeah."

Quinn looked shocked for a moment before her features shifted into a teasing smirk. She poked at my side and asked, "If she's kissing you then why are you so afraid to tell her how you feel, S?"

"Because what if she doesn't feel the same way?!" I blew out in one panicked, frustrated breath, finally letting my fear show to my best friend as I cried and clutched tightly to Quinn's hands. "What if she's just looking for comfort and it's easy with me because I'm _always_ with her? What if she just _thinks _she wants me because I saved her life, but a few months from now or a year from now when she's feeling better and has started to put all of this shit behind her, she realizes that she was just idolizing me or whatever? I mean…fuck, Q. This is my heart, okay? It's my heart on the damn line here, and it still has a giant fucking shoe-print in it from when Brittany walked away from me, and I'm fucking SCARED, Quinn. I'm terrified of putting it all out there, because if she doesn't feel the same way, then I can't put it all back. I can't hide it again. It'll be out there, and it will change everything."

"But Santana," Quinn said as she squeezed my hands in return, a smile blooming across her lips that somehow just set me at ease, "what if she _does _feel the same way?"

Those words blasted through me like a fucking tidal wave, and I stared at Quinn as if she'd just told me the meaning of life or something equally epic, because somehow, I hadn't ever even thought about it that way. It was in my nature, a habit formed in my youth, to focus only on the negative and to assume that the negative was the only plausible result. I'd just grown so accustomed to having things turn to shit that I'd forgotten what it was like to really hope for the best and to believe that it was actually possible. As soon as Quinn's words hit my ears, though, it was like my heart just cracked wide open and all the hope I'd denied myself for years poured right in and glued it back together.

I couldn't even begin to stop the smile that blasted across my face in that moment, and I didn't try. I launched across the few inches of space separating me from my best friend and tackled Quinn to the floor in a crushing embrace. She laughed as she squeezed me tightly and I choked out, "Thank you."

We hugged for a few minutes longer before I pinched her sides and said, "Now brush your teeth. You smell like coffee, vomit, and leftover wine. It ain't cute, Q." She snorted as she rolled her eyes and we pushed ourselves up off the cold-ass bathroom floor.

I took the opportunity to pee while she was brushing her teeth, because well…it wasn't like Q and I hadn't see each other naked before. No shame. I laughed at her because she nearly threw up again after gagging on her toothbrush, and she flung toothpaste at me to get me to shut up. And that was when we heard it…a soft whimper that grew into a heart-wrenching moan of pain and terror.

It was Rachel, and the sound was coming from the living room where we'd left her sleeping. Quinn's head snapped up and her hazel eyes locked with mine, her eyebrow shooting up, and all I could do was sigh and shake my head as I flushed the toilet and she quickly rinsed her mouth out. We moved quietly into the living room where I instantly saw Rachel thrashing about on the couch, and I knew that she was trapped in one of her nightmares again. It made my heart clench painfully in my chest, and tears were swimming in Q's eyes almost instantly.

"No, please," Rachel moaned, and I could see tears on her cheeks as well. She was crying in her sleep. "Please don't. Don't." I knew what was coming, and sure enough, only seconds later, Rachel let out a bone-chilling scream as she clamped her legs tightly together and pushed her hands down toward the apex of her thighs as if to cover herself. It made me sick, made my stomach fucking churn and lurch and threaten to rip right up my throat, out of my mouth, and onto the floor. I fucking hated it…seeing her that way, knowing what she was dreaming about.

"Oh my god," I heard Quinn cry, and I glanced over to her to see that she was covering her mouth with one hand and her cheeks were wet as her hazel eyes raked over the position of Rachel's hands. It broke her heart just as deeply as it broke mine, both of us entirely aware of the horrible experience Rachel was reliving inside her mind in that very moment.

I quickly moved around the couch and crouched down beside it. I slid one hand under Rachel's head and moved the other to cup around her cheek. "Rachel, wake up," I said calmly, trying to keep my tears from affecting my voice. I never liked for Rachel to see me crying when she woke up. I didn't want her to ever have to feel afraid to open up for fear of upsetting me, and because I knew that she would need me to be strong for her. She was always a complete and total wreck once she woke, unable to stop crying, sometimes for hours.

She continued to thrash about as I patted at her soaked cheek, trying to gently smack her awake. Sometimes, though, I practically had to scream in her face to jerk her out of her nightmares. It was like she was layers deep and no matter how hard she tried to swim up to the surface, she just couldn't get there. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't escape. "Rachel!" I snapped again, increasing the strength with which I was tapping her cheek. "Come on, honey, wake up."

Still, she wouldn't wake, so I shifted up onto the couch and pulled her thrashing and trembling body into my arms, cradling her in my lap. She continued to scream, crying so forcefully that she was choking in her sleep, and the sight and the sounds instantly threw Quinn into a panic. She sprinted over to the couch, shook Rachel with both of her hands, and shouted, "RACHEL! WAKE UP!"

The tiny brunette instantly jerked, chocolate eyes flying open. Her breathing was labored as her gaze nervously darted back and forth between us, her features flitting through a series of expressions—confusion, surprise, relief, anxiety, fear. Quinn let out a sigh of relief, but I knew that the worst was yet to come, and sure enough…as Rachel adjusted to being awake, she whimpered softly, unable to let go of the images still racking her brain. She glanced down to see that her hands were crossed tightly over her thighs, desperately guarding herself, and then her pained gaze shot back to me and she instantly burst into tears again, great gasping sobs ripping up from her throat as her hands moved and her fingers dug into my shirt. She curled into my chest as she cried, and I just held her and rocked her and did my best to calm her down.

I locked eyes with Q over the top of Rachel's head, and her hazel eyes were a stormy mixture of emotions as she cried for her best friend's pain. She silently wiped at her cheeks before moving to slip onto the couch beside me. She wrapped her arms around both me _and_ Rachel, and we all cried together, Quinn and I both holding Rachel to let her know that she wasn't alone, that she would never be alone again; to let her know that she was safe.

As I rested my head against Quinn's and rocked Rachel in my arms, I thought about Q's car wreck and how she'd nearly died; how scared I'd been that I was never going to see her again or talk to her again or hug her again. Then I thought about the night we'd almost lost Rachel…how absolutely terrified I'd been then, too, and how sure I'd been that she was going to die. Then I thought about the words that Q had only just said to me in the bathroom. And that was when it hit me…

Life didn't allow for waiting. Just when you got comfortable, your entire world could be ripped away. The floor could just crumble beneath your feet. There were no guarantees, only possibilities.

Maybe I needed to tell Rachel how I felt after all, because if by some crazy chance I died tomorrow, I'd want her to know that I loved her. I'd want her to know that I died loving her. Yeah…it was in that moment that I realized that it didn't matter how terrifying it was to put yourself on the line, to be vulnerable. It didn't matter how many things could go wrong or how one single choice could cause everything to blow up in your face. None of that shit mattered—because you _had _to do it, you know? You had to make those choices. You had to tell your secrets. You had to put yourself out there, because in the end, all that really mattered was that you let yourself _really _live when you had the chance. You let yourself love…even if it hurt, even if it was the worst pain imaginable. You let yourself love, and that had to be worth more than a thousand what-ifs taken regrettably to your grave.

Right?


	25. Chapter 25: Echoes of Emotions

**A/N: Sorry about the delay, friends. I finally finished moving this past weekend, and so I hadn't had a chance to update, and then when I tried to update, the website wouldn't let me log into my account, so I've had some technical difficulties. All is well now, though, so hopefully there will be no more upsets.**

**There is a specific paragraph that I wrote in this chapter that means a lot to me. I can't really explain exactly why. It just has sort of stuck with me since I wrote it, and seems quite accurate to an experience I've had in my own life. So, I'm happy to get to share it with you all. **

**I hope you will all review and tell me how you are liking the story. Every little bit helps. Enjoy! XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Echoes of Emotions**

It wasn't that I didn't know that eavesdropping was wrong…it was just that I didn't really care in that moment; not that I'd really ever cared. Eavesdropping was how I'd gotten the majority of my dirt over the years, except this time I was eavesdropping on Q and Rachel. I wasn't at first…swear…but then I was passing by the room (door closed, mind you), and I heard a specific phrase that caught my attention.

Rachel had fallen asleep in my arms while Quinn and I sat on the couch with her and rocked and held her after her nightmare, so I'd carried her to her bed and tucked her in there so that she could get some more sleep. Q and I, of course, had our own private cryfest afterwards, because ever since Rachel's attack, she and I had basically been reduced to sobbing bawl-bags at every possible convenience. Then, about an hour or two later as we were watching some lame movie that Q picked on Netflix, based on some lame book that Q read in like seventh grade or some shit, Rachel's soft voice quietly echoed into the living room and snapped us both to attention.

"Quinn?" She'd called out. Even though I secretly wished she'd called out for me, I wasn't really upset about it. Q and Rachel had been best friends for a while, basically since the middle or end of senior year, and they didn't get to see each other as often as they'd like. I knew they had both been missing each other, especially since the attack. Q called or skyped every single night to check on Rachel, which warmed my heart. I never thought I'd see the day that we both cared so much about Rachel Berry, but especially Quinn. She'd practically raged against the diva for years, and now she loved her probably more than she loved me, or it was more like she just loved her in a different way. They had a special friendship. It wasn't shallow or typical. It was like they really, _truly _just got each other, you know? There was no bullshit between them. It was always just so open, and I think they had both needed a friend like that for a long time before they decided to just throw all their bullshit away and be that friend for each other, and I was happy for them.

Q didn't say a word as she just instantly slid off the couch, patted my shoulder affectionately as she passed me, and headed for the bedroom. I was cool with minding my own business. If Quinn was who Rachel needed in that moment, or even if she just wanted to spend a little time with her without me, I was totally fine with that. I liked to have time with both of them on my own, too, so I definitely understood. I just had to keep myself busy so that I wouldn't die of boredom, because I sure as hells wasn't about to watch that lame-ass movie on my own. I paused it in case Q was actually enjoying it and wanted to finish it later, before I popped off the couch and headed into the kitchen to make myself some coffee. Still waiting for the day that someone invents a coffee-IV, or like a coffee patch or something, because brewing it got old and I had to down like at least five cups of coffee a day. _At least._

Once my coffee was brewed and steaming in my cup, I decided to go rummage through Quinn's shit to see if she brought her DS, because I needed something to do. I passed by the door to Rachel's (and my) room as I was rounding the kitchen island to go to Kurt's (temporarily Quinn's) room, and that's when I heard it. Quinn's soft, raspy voice bled right through the door as if I was meant to hear that specific phrase at that specific time.

"Santana would understand, Rachel," she said, which practically had my ears perking up like freaking Scooby Doo and I couldn't make myself keep walking toward Kurt's room. I had to know what they were talking about. I mean, I would understand _what_ exactly?

Aaaaaaand that's we how got to now, with me basically pressed up against Rachel's door, my ear flat against the wood and straining to hear every little bit of the conversation. It wasn't an easy task, mind you, because Rachel was speaking very softly, but damn if I wasn't giving it my all. I rationalized the eavesdropping in my mind as perfectly acceptable because I'd heard my name. I mean, if someone is talking about you specifically, then that makes the conversation fair game, right? Like, I should have a right to know what's being said about me. Right? Right.

"I've been in therapy before, so that would be nothing new," I heard Rachel say, which gave me another Scooby-Doo moment. Was she implying that she _wanted _to go to therapy, or had Quinn suggested that she _should _go? That was always the negative aspect of eavesdropping. You never knew how shit started or the actual context of things. "I just don't want Santana to think that she doesn't help me enough, because she certainly does. She has been so wonderful, Quinn."

"I know," Quinn agreed, which made me smile, because hell yes…Rachel thought I was WONDERFUL, and apparently so did Q. "I've never seen her so open and emotional and comforting with anyone before, not even Brittany. It's nice to see that side of her."

Okay, Q…you're squashing my rep. Dial it down a notch or two.

"Yes, and that's another reason that I think I would like to go to therapy," Rachel said quietly, sounding slightly insecure. "Not only do I believe that therapy may help with the nightmares and the overall anxiety, but I believe it may help me to sort out my feelings about Santana."

"What do you mean?" Quinn asked.

"This stays between us?" I heard Rachel asked insecurely. "It's not that I don't trust Santana, because I absolutely do, and once I get everything sorted out in my head, I would certainly wish to speak with her personally about all of this, I just don't want her to know until I am certain."

Well, shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. She just _had _to say that, and now I felt guilty. Great. I knew I should just walk away at that point and respect Rachel's privacy and the fact that she was choosing to confide in Q and not me. I knew I should, and I even stepped away for just a moment, but then I did what I'm pretty sure most people would do, and went right back to the door, pressing my body against it and practically digging my ear into the wood. I didn't walk away, but the fact that I seriously _considered _walking away made me feel a little better about…you know…_not _walking away.

The 2.5 seconds I'd spent away from the door apparently made me miss Q's response to Rachel's request for privacy, though there was obviously no doubt in my mind that she'd agreed. That was confirmed seconds later when I heard Rachel say, "Good, thank you, Quinn. I'm sorry to ask you to keep things from Santana. I am just a bit overwhelmed, and I have come to find that Santana only makes me feel even more overwhelmed."

I could practically _hear _Rachel's blush in that moment, which made my heart swell, because I was pretty sure that her tone of voice and the inflection she'd used when she'd said that implied that she'd meant it in a _very _good way. Score.

"I get it," Quinn told her softly. "So you have feelings for Santana, then? I mean, I kind of figured you did after seeing your Facebook post, but S said that you just did that to get Finn to shut up."

"Yes, she said the same to me," Rachel said, "and I simply let her believe what she wanted. However, I did tell her that I had feelings for her. She asked me how big my feelings were."

They both giggled then, and I face-palmed. Seriously, Rach? That was a _private _moment.

"I told her that they were quite large," she continued, "but I must admit that I am a bit concerned. I can't recall ever having any romantic feelings toward Santana prior to the attack, though obviously I could never deny her physical attractiveness. She has always been very beautiful; however, she and I didn't even become friends until the end of senior year, and our friendship wasn't solid as yours and mine was and is, Quinn. It was rocky, and then she showed up here and declared she was moving in, and that was all fine and well, because we actually got along and I really enjoyed her company; that is, until the whole issue with Brody. I swear, Quinn, I am still so ashamed of myself. I cannot believe that I chose to believe someone I barely knew over someone I've known for years. My strange and tense background with Santana aside, I shouldn't have done that. I still haven't forgiven myself for kicking her out, even though it only lasted a grand total of two days or so. She took care of me. She did all she could to prove to me that he was no good, to protect me, even though she owed me nothing, and I was fairly certain that she didn't even like me that much. Apparently, I was wrong."

"Rachel, you're rambling," Quinn suddenly cut in. Christ. Thank you, Q! It's hard enough to hear shit through the door, but then to have the dwarf go off on a novel-long tirade of re-hashing events that have already happened…damn, close the floodgates, Rachel. We only need a little water at a time.

"Right, sorry," Rachel said, letting out a nervous little giggle that positively made me swoon, not that I would ever admit that out loud. "My point is that though Santana has always been gorgeous and I have always been open to the idea of alternative lifestyles for myself, I never had romantic feelings for Santana prior to the attack."

"So…?" Quinn asked slowly as if she was afraid to hear the answer, and I didn't blame her, because sha…I was fucking terrified. In fact, just that introductory sentence made me want to run from the door and plug my fingers in my ears, but because I like to utterly torture myself, I stayed put. I had to hear what was coming.

"So, I am afraid that I only feel for her romantically because she saved my life," Rachel told her. "What if my feelings are a result of some sort of hero complex I have with her now? They feel genuine, Quinn. They really do, but do feelings truly just burst out of nowhere like that?"

My stomach was fucking roaring in that moment, and I felt like I might just hurl any minute. Rachel was basically voicing my fears out loud. It was the same thing I'd told Q earlier, that I was terrified that Rachel only thought she wanted me because I was like her new hero or something and she had some weird damsel-in-distress complex going on. And Rachel had pretty much just confirmed as much, or at least, she confirmed that she, too, thought that that's what it _could_ be.

FUCK. Why does shit like this always happen to me? Here I am, in fucking love with _another_ person whose feelings might not be real or might only be half-returned. What the hell is wrong with me? Do I not deserve to love someone fully and be fully loved in return?

God, this was the worst feeling. Okay, not true. The worst feeling was the one I'd had the night that I found Rachel in the alley, and the time I'd spent in the emergency and waiting rooms just hoping to hear that she was going to live and be okay. However, this feeling definitely sucked. And though I tried not to let it get to me too much, because at least Rachel was honestly concerned and like apparently wanted to go to therapy to work it all out just to avoid hurting me, which was really sweet, I just couldn't help but feel like a fucking idiot. A hurt idiot.

It was pretty much impossible not to feel hopeless at that point.

"How do you even know that your feelings simply burst out of nowhere, Rach?" Q asked her, which caught my attention and pulled me out of my pathetic moment of self-loathing and wallowing in my own pathetic heartache, because well…yeah. How _did_ she know? How could anyone know really? Damn, why did feelings have to be so fucking complicated?!

"What do you mean?" Rachel asked her, sounding thoroughly confused. "It is obvious, isn't it, Quinn? I certainly can never recall a desire to see Santana naked or to touch her inappropriately or to have her tongue in my mouth, prior to recently."

"Seriously, Rach? Was that necessary?" Quinn deadpanned. "I really didn't need those images of you two in my head."

Suit yourself, Q, because I was pretty sure that I most _definitely _needed those images in _my _head. I could not believe that Rachel had just said that; then again, it _was_ Rachel. She never had much of a filter. Still, my entire body suddenly felt hella hot and I absentmindedly brought a hand up to fan at my face as I kept my ear pressed to the door.

"Well, obviously, those things haven't happened, Quinn," Rachel sighed exaggeratedly. "I was simply attempting to make a point. Oh, except for the tongue in my mouth. _That _one happened."

I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing as I heard Quinn groan before saying, "Uh huh, yeah, okay…ANYWAY, the point that _I _was trying to make is that you have known Santana for years, and though you had a volatile relationship, that doesn't mean that you didn't care for her. You tried nearly as often with her as you did with me to open her up to being friendly with you. You helped her when your lame ex-fiancé outed her against her will, and you guys sang several songs together in Glee. Anyway, the point is that I think you have always cared about Santana on some level, Rachel, and you have obviously always been at least a little attracted to her since you just mentioned multiple times how attractive she is, plus, let's face it, who hasn't been at least a little attracted to her at one point or another?"

Wow…eavesdropping had never stroked my ego so well before. That shit was getting thoroughly petted, and I was pretty much loving it. Major upgrade from the heart-crushing, what-if-I-only-like-her-because-she-saved-me shit.

"You make a fair point, Quinn," Rachel agreed. I then had to clamp my hand over my mouth again to keep from laughing as the little munchkin went on to shock both Quinn and I by saying, "You know, Quinn. It simply isn't fair that you've had sex with my might-be/should-be/maybe-will-be-after-I-go-to-the rapy girlfriend and _I_ haven't. What if when we finally have sex…" Rachel then cleared her throat before continuing by saying, "Excuse me, I shouldn't make assumptions. _If _Santana and I have sex, what if she compares me to you? What if I'm not as good? What if—"

"Okay, no," Quinn cut in thankfully, because I was totally about to burst into extremely loud laughter that would've instantly given away exactly what I was doing. The whole conversation had taken a sudden turn for the extremely awkward, though I couldn't deny that I found Rachel's insecurity in that moment completely and utterly adorable, despite the fact that her mention of my little drunken sexcapade with Q had my cheeks flushing with embarrassment; not really for myself, because I didn't care, but mostly for Quinn. I knew she was probably red as a fucking cherry in there. She was not one for talking openly about her sex life.

Q cleared her throat LOUDLY which only made me want to laugh harder, and then she completely dismissed that line of conversation by saying, "ANYWAY, Rachel, the _point_, again, is how do you _know _that your feelings simply burst out of nowhere? How do you know that they didn't simply evolve into romantic feelings because of what you went through together with the attack? I'm sure you two have talked and shared things with each other and gotten to know one another since the attack in a way that you never did before, right? How do you know that you're feelings aren't just growing, Rach?"

"Wow, Quinn, have you ever considering becoming a therapist?" Rachel asked seriously, sounding totally in awe of what Q had just told her. I had to agree, though. I'd had the same revelatory moment with Q earlier that day when she'd dropped the whole "but what if she _does _feel the same way" bomb on me. Quinn Fabray was a like our own little psychologist. All she needed was a fancy couch, some bifocals to perch on the tip of her nose, and a hot, funky accent.

"Nope, not even once," Q laughed, "and I'm not going to, so go ahead and make an appointment with an _actual _therapist, Rachel, because I agree with you that it's a good idea. I don't think your feelings for Santana are just because of some weird hero complex, but I _do _think that therapy could really help you sort everything out so that you aren't so anxious or confused all the time. I think it might help with the nightmares as well."

"Mm, I agree," Rachel said. "I will have to call my fathers and have them set it up, but I think it might really help. That detective also mentioned something about support groups for…for r-rape victims…" She stumbled over those words, and my stomach bottomed out. I knew that Rachel had really been trying to come to terms with what had happened to her, but it was fucking hard. It was hard for all of us. Hell, obviously it was fucking hard to even say the damn words, let alone accept that it had _actually _happened.

Q's voice trembled a bit when she spoke up, but I couldn't help but smile (with tears in my eyes, obviously) when she very strongly said, "I believe the word you are looking for is _survivors_, Rachel. Not victims…survivors."

"R-right," Rachel said quietly. "I thought I might look into one of those, too. What do you think?"

"I think that's great," Q told her, her voice full of love and sincerity. "If you want, Santana and I could go with you the first couple of times if you're afraid, or just one of us. It doesn't matter, Rach. Whatever makes you comfortable."

"Yes, I think I would like that," Rachel said, and my heart practically exploded in my chest. God, she was…incredible; so fucking strong, and she was really trying to get better. She had never, not even once, laid down after the attack and let her life just slip away from her while she curled up in her depression and let the memories of the attack eat her alive. She _wanted_ to get better. She wanted to get back to being herself, and she was really going for it. I was so fucking proud of Rachel in that moment that my pride was practically spewing out of my pores.

There was a long moment of silence after that, long enough that I almost walked away, figuring that the serious part of the conversation was over; but then, I heard Rachel clear her throat. She then very timidly, very quietly said, "Quinn…if I do this. If I go to therapy and a support group, and I realize that my feelings for Santana are truly genuine, that I am…i-in love with her like I think I might be…what do I do?"

Wait, what?! Did Rachel just say that she thinks she's in love with me?! Okay, seriously, a million things happened to me in that moment. My emotions pretty much just exploded like a fucking bowl of soup in a microwave. My stomach felt like it was either going to shoot up my throat or fall out my ass. My head swam dizzily enough to make me sway against the door a bit and blink my eyes rapidly to clear my suddenly blurry vision.

You never think that something like that is going to affect you as much as it does, but it _always _does. When you have genuine feelings for someone and then you find out that they might actually return those feelings, it's like everything just shakes and rumbles and flips completely upside down. It's like being on a roller coaster—your heart pounds, your breath sticks in your throat like a giant ball of super glue, your stomach drops and flips and makes you feel like you're either going to throw up or pee your pants, and your skin tingles like you're being assaulted by a million invisible feathers all at the same time. And the weirdest thing about all of that is that as awkward and as uncomfortable as all of those sensations may seem, when it happens…it is the best goddamn experience of your life, and you never want the ride to end.

"Well, I think you just tell her, Rach," Q said, and I could seriously hear the smile in her voice as she said it. I'm sure she was getting a kick out of the fact that both Rachel and I had apparently decided that her little visit to New York was a good time to assault her with our mutual feelings for each other.

"But what if she doesn't feel the same way?" Rachel asked timidly, almost an exact echo of the same shit I'd said to Q earlier that day. "I know she has feelings for me, because she told me as much, but love is a very strong word and emotion, Quinn. Perhaps, she merely has a crush or is just very attracted to me. She may not feel the same as I feel."

I heard Quinn laugh softly, and I knew exactly why. She was remembering me asking the same nervous question that morning, and so, I couldn't help but smile when Q answered Rachel the same way she'd answered me.

"But Rachel," Q said, her voice light and airy and practically bursting with glee, "what if she _does_?"


	26. Chapter 26: Back to Then

**A/N: Sorry about the delay again, everyone. I've been a little disheartened lately, so I haven't had much motivation to write.**

**Thank you, though, to everyone for your lovely reviews and messages, and thank you for always reading. I appreciate it more than I can say. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. XO-Chrmdpoet**

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Back to Then**

I didn't like being in the hospital again. It was a weird sensation—the prickles on my skin and the uncomfortable rolling in my stomach. It was weird because my dad is a doctor. I've been so exposed to hospitals my entire life that they are like a second home to me. I've spent nights in on-call rooms when my dad's surgeries ran late and my mom had a conference in a different city. I've eaten with scrub nurses in hospital cafeterias and read stories to kids in Pediatrics wards just to kill some time. I've lived an entire second life in a hospital setting, so I never had that whole hospitals-freak-me-out complex that a lot of people have. In fact, I've kind of always loved them.

So, it was a little off-putting to realize that instead of that natural, comfortable feeling that I used to get when going into a hospital, I felt freaked the hell out and sick to my stomach. I didn't have to wonder why. I _knew _why, but it didn't make it any easier to realize that I would probably never love that environment again, the way I used to. The bright lights, the white walls, the hustle of nurses and doctors, the beeping of monitors, the smell of antiseptic—it all just felt like an assault on my body and on my senses, the same way it had the night of Rachel's attack. Realizing as much had my eyes stinging furiously, but I fought back the tears building under my eyelids, because I didn't want Q and Rachel asking questions, wondering why the hell I was crying as we made our way through the hospital corridors.

But I _did _want to cry. I wanted to cry because Rachel's attack had robbed me of my love of hospitals, and in a way, that made me feel like I'd been robbed of something that I had always loved about my childhood. It just felt wrong, but no matter how I tried to focus on my memories of when I was younger and hanging out at the hospital with my dad, my mind just kept interrupting those memories with fresher ones—red ones, coated in the blood that had coated my clothes that night. All I could see when I closed my eyes were Rachel's open wounds and my blood-soaked chest, and all I could hear was Rachel's voice pleading with me and the sounds of monitors beeping away her life, and all I could feel was that familiar sticky wetness on my skin and the exhaustion in my muscles from carrying her, and the nurse pressing me onto the hospital bed while they carried Rachel away from me.

"Santana?" I heard Quinn say. "Santana, look at me."

I turned, but all I saw was a blur. I felt my own hands grip into the handles of Rachel's wheelchair, my knuckles aching. Fingers snapped in front of my face, there was a flash of blonde hair, and then there was Rachel dying in my arms again. Bleeding profusely, her eyes closed, her skin so pale that it made my own skin crawl, and her limbs limp.

I felt my breath quicken in my lungs, and my heart was fucking hammering all of a sudden. It was too much. I felt trapped inside my own head and inside the vivid memory of that night. Rachel was dying. In my head, she was bleeding to death all over again, and I was just standing there, marinating in her blood and doing nothing other than panicking. And then she was gone, taken from my arms, and I couldn't breathe at all then. They didn't give me any answers, and I couldn't breathe. They told me it didn't look good, and I couldn't breathe. My shirt was melting into my skin, and I couldn't fucking _breathe_.

"Santana!" It was muffled and sounded like someone was holding a hand over Q's mouth. What was wrong with her? Why was she talking like that?

The room started to spin then. Fuck. Make it stop. Make it stop.

"Rachel," I tried to say, because she was dying in my arms, but my tongue felt like it had filled up my entire mouth and my voice just wouldn't work around it.

She was going to die. If I couldn't get someone to help her, then she was going to die. She needed…I needed…someone.

But then everything just went black.

* * *

My head felt like it was the size of a fucking elephant and just as dull. I tried to open my eyes, but as soon as I managed to open them just a little, there was suddenly a bright light darting rapidly in front of me like a puppy trying to get me to play. I couldn't help but groan, because the light hurt and my head hurt and my body hurt, and just everything hurt. Jesus! What the hell happened to me? Did I get attacked by a brick wall in my sleep or something?

"Oh good! You're awake," a voice that I didn't recognize said. "Look here, Santana, and try to follow my finger."

Oh, a fucking doctor or a nurse or something; medical professionals and their finger games. Wanky.

I tried to sit up because my vision hadn't cleared up enough for me to even begin to concentrate on someone's finger, let alone anything else. As soon as I pushed up on my elbows, I felt hands grip onto my shoulders and push me back down. "Whoa there," that same voice said. "Let's just take it slow for a few minutes, okay?"

"No, back the hell off, dude," I managed to choke out as I went to push myself up again. This time, no one stopped me. My vision cleared just enough to see where I was by the time I actually got into a sitting position, though I couldn't deny the fact that the room was spinning like a damn carousel, and all I could think was someone get me off this fucking painted horse!

I gripped the sides of the bed I was sitting on to hold myself in place since it just so happened to be the only thing at the moment that wasn't orbiting around me at the speed of light, and finally when the room decided it wanted to be stationary again, I was able to relax. Said relaxation only lasted about 2.5 seconds, though, as I tried to take everything in and figure out what the hell was going on, before the memories slammed to the forefront of my mind, and I remembered what had been happening just before I woke up here.

Rachel.

"Rachel!" I shouted, and my voice cracked audibly. The nurse suddenly swam into my vision again, hovering right in front of my face.

"Santana, let's just calm down, okay?" he said, but nothing coming out of his mouth mattered in that moment.

"No, listen to me!" I snapped at him. "I need to get to Rachel. She's…she's…you need to help her. Where is she?"

"Santana, take a breath," the nurse said, and this time his voice was ripe with authority.

"No, for fuck's sake, she's gonna die!" I pushed at him then, and though I felt absolutely frantic and panicked and like I might just fucking explode, another part of me felt like I was missing something; like I was overacting or something. I couldn't explain it.

He gripped onto my shoulders and very tightly held me in place as I continued to push at him and shout, but then I heard something that blasted right through my panic and sank into my heart.

"Santana?"

It was soft. It was beautiful. It was her.

I instantly stopped fighting the nurse, and as soon as I went limp, he let me go and stepped back just enough for me to see silky chocolate hair and deep brown eyes. Rachel was sitting in a wheelchair, and Quinn was standing just behind her, gripping the handles as she pushed the chair closer to the bed I was sitting on. Both their faces were riddled with concern and fear and maybe a little relief.

"Ra—but…how? You…and Q? What are you…"

I couldn't string a single fucking thought together in that moment. It was like I was trapped in a dream, and nothing that I was seeing was making any sense. Rachel had only just been dying in my arms and now she was sitting in front of me, fine but for the fact that she was in a wheelchair, and Q was there, too. Where the hell had she come from?

"Are you okay, S?" Quinn asked softly, as if she was terrified of the answer, but it was Rachel's face that I couldn't stop staring at. She stared right back at me, and I could see tears in her eyes, but I didn't know why she was crying. I didn't know what the hell was going on. I was so confused, and my head was pounding so hard that I could hardly keep my eyes open against the pain.

"You…" I said quietly as I stared at her. "You're not dying?"

She smiled sadly at me then as a few of those tears in her eyes made their way down her cheeks. "No, of course not, honey," she told me. "I'm right here."

"What the hell is wrong with her?" I heard Q hiss at the nurse, though nothing they said to one another mattered in that moment. My heart felt like it was floating as I stared at Rachel and realized that she was okay. While the nurse was busy talking to Quinn, I slipped off of the bed and instantly dropped to my knees in front of Rachel's chair.

She held her hands out to me, and that's when I broke. Tears ripped down my cheeks and panic built again in my chest. I didn't understand anything in that moment except that Rachel was alive and she was talking to me and she was reaching for me. I laid my head in her lap and her hands instantly went into my hair, scratching at my scalp and making me feel for the first time in what felt like years that everything was going to be alright.

I heard the nurse talking to Quinn again and just barely caught the end of his sentence, "…from psych is coming down."

"Is that really necessary?" That voice was Rachel's. I didn't have a clue what they were talking about, but I didn't really care. I just wanted to drift away with Rachel's fingers in my hair. I just wanted to sleep.

Sleep.

* * *

"Santana?"

There was a gentle shake to my shoulder, but it was enough to wake me up. When I opened my eyes, I saw a face that I recognized but not because it was someone I knew well. I'd only met the woman once before. It was the psychiatrist that I had met with Rachel's dads that day in the hospital. Damn, what was her name?

Dr. Lachlan? Yeah, that was it.

"Santana, do you remember me?" she said, and I could only nod as I reached up to rub at my eyes before pushing myself into a sitting position. Wait a minute. Why the hell was I talking to a psychiatrist?

I gasped as I bolted upright and in one giant rush of a breath, asked, "Is Rachel okay? Why are you here? Did she freak out or something? Where is she?"

"Okay, okay," Dr. Lachlan said softly, patting my knee in a placating manner. "Let's just take a few breaths and then we will talk, okay?"

"Okay," I sighed as I took a deep breath. After a few more, I looked at Dr. Lachlan and asked, "Did I like fall asleep waiting for Rachel to get fitted for her crutches? Is she still back there? Where's Quinn?"

"You are just full of questions," Dr. Lachlan said, chuckling lightly and I could have smacked her right then. Of fucking course I'm full of questions! I just woke up in a hospital with a psychiatrist telling me to breathe and positively no recollection of even falling asleep in the first place.

Instead, though, I summoned up every ounce of respect I could manage in the moment, cleared my throat, and said, "Sorry, I'm just confused. Could you tell me why I'm in a hospital bed, talking to a psychiatrist?"

She chuckled softly again, patted my knee, and asked, "You don't remember?"

"Uh, no," I said as I brought a hand up to my head, realizing in that moment that I had a headache that could rival the next world war. "My head is killing me."

"Mm," she hummed as she scribbled down a few notes on her clipboard. "Can you tell me the last thing you remember then?"

"Uh…Q and I were bringing Rachel to the hospital to get fitted for crutches," I told her. "The doc said she could try for crutches in four to six weeks, and it's been almost five weeks, so we called and he said to bring her in for a check-up and a fitting."

"Okay, and that's _all _that you remember?" Dr. Lachlan asked me. Uh yeah, isn't that what I just said? The hell you mean is that _all _I remember?

"Yeah, am I supposed to be remembering something else?" I asked her, cursing myself internally for the way my voice trembled a bit, but damn if I wasn't starting to get a little nervous. "You're kind of freaking me out."

"I apologize, Santana," she said then, patting my knee again. "There is no need to panic, but there are a few things that I would like to discuss with you."

"O-Okay," I stammered out as I tried to force myself to relax.

"Since Rachel's attack last month," she began, and of course my stomach rolled uncomfortably, "have you had any shortness of breath, vivid nightmares, inexplicable outbursts of emotions, or sudden panic?"

"Uh, not really," I told her honestly. "I mean, I've had a few nightmares about it, but none of that other stuff."

"Okay, good," she said, and I was thinking, _really? Is it really good? Or are you just trying to make me feel better and more comfortable? I mean, seriously…what the hell is going on here? _

"Now," she continued, "what about memory loss? Can you recall any blank spots in your memory over the last month? Any moments of waking in which you couldn't remember falling asleep? Any moments of realizing that time had passed but you couldn't remember what you had been doing throughout the duration?"

"No, none of that," I said, shaking my head. Was I seriously being examined by a psych doctor? What the hell did I do?

"Okay, that's good," she told me, nodding as she scribbled on her clipboard some more. After a few moments of silence but for the sound of her pen scratching out her notes, she looked up at me, smiled, and said, "Okay, Santana, I need to discuss a few things with you, and they may be hard to hear, but I don't want you to panic. Everything is going to be perfectly okay, so just try to listen and stay calm. Can you do that for me?"

"I'll uh…I can try," I answered honestly, because I didn't have a damn clue what this bitch was about to tell me, and so I wasn't about to make any promises of not panicking.

"Good," she said with another smile. "Now, the reason I'm here, Santana, is because it seems that you are suffering from a mild case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder."

"Wait, what? No, no I'm not," I interjected, because what the hell was she talking about? I had literally _just _told her that I hadn't experienced any of that shit she asked me about, so how could that lead her to think that I had PTSD? Why the hell would I even have PTSD? Rachel was the one that was attacked, not me.

"Yes, I'm afraid you do," she said calmly. "It's nothing to panic about, Santana, so like I said, just try to relax and listen."

I could feel tears building in my eyes and my throat felt like it was closing, like I couldn't breathe. Still, I did my best to do as the doctor said. I took several deep breaths, forcing them past the massive lump in my throat and into my lungs, and I tried to stay focused on what the doctor was saying to me.

"Commonly, when a person suffers from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," she told me, "they will have what we call 'episodes' of panic and stress relative to whatever trauma initially caused the disorder, and often these episodes are triggered by some sort of stimulus."

"But what stimulus?" I asked her, still not believing that she could be right about this. "What trigger? I'm fine. I told you that I haven't had any of those symptoms except a few nightmares, and I don't think that that automatically means I have PTSD."

"Sometimes, the PTSD does not actually manifest until a major trigger is presented or identified," she explained, "and for you, Santana, I believe the trigger was the hospital itself. That would explain why you haven't experienced any episodes prior to now."

"What the hell are you talking about?" I snapped, because I couldn't help myself. I was getting seriously frustrated, not to mention freaked the fuck out, and I felt like I was part of some sick joke or something. None of it made sense to me. "I haven't had ANY episodes at all!"

"Yes, you have," she said solemnly, and it was my like my entire world just splintered apart right then. My breath slammed from my lips like it was the last breath I'd ever have, and my limbs suddenly felt like jelly.

"What do you mean?" I asked, but the words came out more like a whimper than anything else.

"You had your first episode today," she told me, "and I believe it was triggered by your return to the hospital. You and your friend Quinn came to the hospital with Rachel today to have her fitted for crutches, and while you were walking through the hospital, you became erratic and panicked, according to Quinn. She tells me that you appeared short of breath, that your eyes were glazed over, and that you were unable to speak properly except for the single moment in which you were able to call out Rachel's name. These are all typical symptoms of a PTSD episode. What is more telling though, Santana, is that you then fainted."

It was all almost too much to take in, but I forced myself to stay in the moment. I forced myself to listen, and I tried to remember.

"After you fainted," she continued, "several nurses transported you to this hospital bed, and when you woke, it seemed that you could not remember any of the last month. You believed that Rachel's life was in danger and that she was dying, just as she had been the night of the attack when you carried her to the hospital. Again, there is no need to panic, Santana. This is all perfectly normal for someone suffering from PTSD. Most are unable to remember their episodes at all, and typically during an episode, most become trapped in the memory of their trauma as if they are reliving it."

"But I wasn't even the one who was attacked," I argued with her. "Why do _I _have this PTSD shit when I wasn't the one who actually suffered the trauma? That was Rachel."

"Simply because you are not the one who was attacked, doesn't mean that you didn't experience trauma, Santana," she said matter-of-factly. "I would wager to say that your trauma from that night actually comes rather close to matching Rachel's. Finding your friend naked and bleeding to death in a dark alley and then quite literally carrying her to the hospital on foot, all while facing the very real possibility that she might not survive the night, is a spectacularly traumatic event, Santana. There is no shame or guilt to be had in admitting that, and there is absolutely no shame or guilt in suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Sometimes, the brain simply cannot process the magnitude of some life experiences, and thus the memories of these experiences begin to haunt us in our mind's effort to understand, move on, or let go. This often results in the episodes I told you about, and it is very likely, Santana, that the episodes will continue if you go without treatment."

"Treatment?" I asked her, hating this entire conversation. "Like medicine or something?"

"No, like therapy," she said, chuckling as I wrinkled my nose and scoffed. "There is nothing wrong with therapy, Santana. Tons of people do it, and it has helped many, especially those suffering from PTSD. I can certainly prescribe you some medication for anxiety and migraines, as PTSD episodes commonly lead to migraines, much like the one I am sure you are experiencing now."

"Yeah, I feel like I'm either going to pass out or throw up," I told her honestly as I rubbed at my head and eyes. That was when I noticed that my cheeks were wet. I'd been crying and hadn't even realized it. It was all just so overwhelming. When was it going to stop? All of it…when was it all going to stop? When were we, Rachel and me, going to get a break? It was like one thing right after another, and life was just laughing at us along the way.

"That's to be expected," she said. "So, as I said, I can provide you with a prescription for the anxiety and the headaches, but Santana, you will _need _therapy if you hope to work through your PTSD in a healthy and progressive manner."

"How long will it take?" I asked her, my stomach sinking.

"As long as it takes," she told me, shrugging her shoulders. "Sometimes, patients see immediate progress. Sometimes it takes months. Sometimes years. It just depends on the trauma and on the patient."

"Years? Seriously?" I exclaimed incredulously. "But like…will therapy cure it at least? I mean, I can get rid of it, right?"

"Therapy has been known to move patients with PTSD to a place where they no longer have episodes, so in a sense, yes, it has been cured for some with continued therapy," she said, nodding, "but there are some with PTSD who continue to have episodes throughout their entire lives. They may become less frequent or less severe with continued therapy and time, but some never fully overcome it."

I swallowed thickly then, because all I could think was that I was going to be a panicked fucking freak for the rest of my life, and then how could Rachel love me? I'd be a constant reminder of what happened to her. Oh god…how the hell was I going to get through this? How was I going to tell her about this? How was I going to tell my parents about this? Was I seriously going to start going to therapy?

"Santana?"

"Huh, what?"

"I asked if you would like to schedule an appointment with me," Dr. Lachlan said. "It is best that you begin therapy as soon as possible; that is, if you wish to begin treatment at all."

"Uh…shit," I mumbled, and she chuckled at me again. I thought of Rachel again in that moment, and then I remembered the conversation I'd overheard her having with Q. Rachel was going to go to therapy, and she didn't feel ashamed of it or upset about it at all. She was actually pretty optimistic. I figured that if Rachel could do it, then so could I. I think I owed it to her to try to be the best version of me I could be. "Yeah, I guess I will," I finally told her.

"That's great, Santana," she said smiling. "I really believe you've made the right decision."

"Yeah," I sighed. "Can I see my friends now? Are they still here?"

"Of course they are. They're in the waiting room," she told me. "So, let's just get you scheduled, and I will write up those prescriptions for you, and then you can be on your way. How does that sound?"

I didn't say anything. I just nodded as new tears slipped silently down my cheeks and I waited for Dr. Lachlan to write out my prescriptions and schedule my appointment. I felt like my entire life had just been flipped on its head.

* * *

When I pushed open the door to the waiting room, I quickly swiped at my cheeks to try and clear away all the evidence of the tears I'd been crying basically ever since I woke up with the psychiatrist hovering over me. I didn't want Q and Rachel to freak out or anything. I'm sure they were a little on edge to begin with, since apparently I'd totally tripped out during my "episode", and that was _after _I blacked the hell out right in front of them and in the middle of the hospital.

Almost as soon as I stepped into the waiting room, I heard a loud sigh of relief and then before I could even process anything, blonde hair was smacking into my face as Q yanked me into a tight embrace. She squeezed me tightly before pulling back. She kept her hands latched to my arms as she locked gazes with me and asked, "Are you okay? We were worried. You just blacked out, and then you freaked out. You scared the hell out of us. Are you okay?"

"Q, take a breath," I said as I tried to keep back the tears that were already stinging in my eyes again. "I'm fine. I'm sorry I freaked you out."

"Don't be sorry," she said before she took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. "And don't be mad about the psych thing. I swear we tried to tell that nurse not to call the psych department, but he wouldn't listen. He said something about policy, and I just knew you were going to be pissed."

"I'm not," I told her quietly, and I could feel a few tears drop then. Fuck. I really didn't want to cry again. "I'm not mad. Apparently it was a good thing that I talked to the psychiatrist."

"What do you mean?" That time, the question came from Rachel. Quinn quickly shifted to the side, and I swear my heart jumped right into my throat as my eyes locked onto one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen. Rachel was walking. She was on crutches of course, and had finally managed to hop her way over to us, but still…she was walking. She wasn't confined to the wheelchair anymore, and that was overwhelmingly beautiful.

I smiled at her through my tears as I scanned her body, and she smiled back at me as she made her way forward, just a little closer, but she didn't have to go far, because I moved then. I closed the gap between us, moving right into her personal space, cupped my hand around her cheek, and whispered in awe, "You're walking."

Her smile could have lit the fucking sun in that moment, and it spilled right into me like a wave of relief. She nodded as she leaned her face into my hand before she whispered back to me, "I was worried about you."

I felt Q move a little closer then, her hand coming to rest in the middle of my back as I dropped my own hand from Rachel's cheek and began to fidget in place. I took a deep breath as a few new tears fell down my cheeks, and when I finally felt like I could talk again without choking or sobbing, I looked up and quietly told them, "I have PTSD."

There was nothing but silence as we just stood there together, both Quinn and Rachel seemingly absorbing what I had just told them, and when it got to the point that I couldn't bear the quiet any longer, I let out a heavy breath and explained a little more. "Apparently being in the hospital again triggered my memories and panic from the night of the attack and I had some sort of PTSD episode. That's why I was out of it, and that's why I still can't remember any of it. I was literally like trapped in the memory of that night," I told them. I locked eyes with Rachel then as I finished by saying, "I thought you were dying all over again."

I could feel Quinn rubbing my back as I watched Rachel's eyes fill with tears. I didn't really know what to do then, so I just shrugged my shoulders and tried to laugh it off as I said, "Now I have to go to therapy and talk about my feelings and shit."

"There's nothing wrong with that, Santana," Rachel said softly as she reached out a hand and laid it gently on my chest. I swear it was like she was stroking my heart, and it felt so fucking good that I could have died happily inside that feeling a thousand times. "But you know you don't _have _to go if you don't want to."

"No, I want to," I told her. "If I don't get help for it then I'm just gonna be freaking out every time something reminds me of that night, and since we live together, I don't want that to happen, Rachel. I don't want to be a constant reminder of the worst day of your life."

Rachel let out a soft sigh that sounded more like a whimper as her eyes practically flooded with affection, and then before I even realized what was happening, the hand she had lain on my chest curled into a fist, balling in my shirt, and suddenly I was being jerked forward. Rachel pulled me in and pressed our lips gently together, to which I heard a gasp followed by a chuckle from the blonde beside me. I didn't care, though. All I cared about was the feel of Rachel's soft lips pushing and sliding against mine. I closed my eyes as I let the sensation of that single moment flow right into me and remind me that there were a lot of good things in my life, too. It wasn't all panic and tragedy and trauma.

I had joy, too, and in that moment, all of my joy was wrapped up inside Rachel Berry.


End file.
